By Divine Intervention: Revenge of the Mary Sue
by Technoelfie
Summary: It's got Legolas in it again. The poor elf is becoming allergic to 21st century girls with nice hair, so what happens when a fedup reader who's got the hots for the elf decides to become a MarySue herself? [complete]
1. And So It Begins

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own the Fellowship. Not even the smallest, incredibly profitable part of it, alas.   
  
  
  
  
**~ Prologue ~**   
  


In the aftermath, it would be too late to analyze why I did what I did the day I decided to return to Middle Earth. Boredom was part of the reason, certainly. There had been nothing good on tv for days. Being between jobs, I had no money for books, and even if I had, all my favourite authors were taking too long writing anyway.   
  
Looking back, maybe I should have reflected on the reading situation in Middle Earth a bit more. Its inhabitants wrote stuff on expensive parchment, using decorative symbols I had no idea how to read. Their taste in poetry and music also tended to run to the archaic as far as I was concerned -- I doubted they had heard of reggae or latin music, or anything else I could swing my hips and have a good time to. In short, the entertainment choices were really limited, and even I would not have been content staring at the elf all day, beautiful though he may be.   
  
I should have remembered all that, but I didn't. My thoughts were consumed by the mundane problems of everyday life and the weather had pulled my mood down to an all-time low.   
  
  
  
It was an exceptionally gloomy, dreary afternoon, and it wasn't even raining. It was also damn cold. I considered grabbing the broom and going into the garden for some martial arts broom-waving exercise, or 'neighbour entertainment' as my best friend used to call it. I decided against it.   
  
Well, I wasn't in the mood to amuse the neighbours -- why should they have a good time when I didn't? I would have probably picked up a book anyway, and read it for the fifty-first time, failing to be entertained at any of the plot turns because I knew all of them by heart, but...   
  
What?   
  
Well, the cross-dimensional portal opened again, right in front of my nose. For some reason it was all pink and swirly this time, hovering in the middle of my bedroom like some cheesy special effect.   
  
'Anna', I said to myself, 'this is a really bad time'.   
  
The mirror flashed rosily at me from the other side of the room, and I nodded at my reflection for emphasis. 'You've just taken a shower, you're running around in orange trainers and a washed-out fitness outfit just because it's comfortable, and your hair is curling like mad and sticking out in all directions, as is its wont... You don't want to let the elf see you like that. Actually, you don't want _anybody_ to see you like that.'   
  
I was right. On the other hand, I wanted to see Legolas again, even if only to see if he was still doing the dirty with that red-haired hussy. It was even more likely that he had built himself a harem in the meantime. Mary Sues were not exactly a rarity in Middle Earth. What would the count be now -- the Fellowship of twenty? At least.   
  
Also, the portal wasn't my making. Being a writer I would have liked that kind of power, but swirly pink dimensional rifts weren't my style. Gods did that kind of stuff -- if the Valar or others, I was not sure. Anyway, that shade of pink was just their thing.   
  
So, would I go, or wouldn't I? The broom seemed to beckon to me from its dusty corner of the room. The swirling was starting to make me nauseous. The tv programme wasn't likely to improve anytime soon either. Despite my inappropriate clothing, there really was only one choice: I grabbed the broom and went.   
  



	2. One More Unto the Breach

_Disclaimer:_ I still don't own the Fellowship.   
  
Oh, and this story relates, in a very fuzzy way, to The Ballad of Mary Sue, also by yours truly. Just thought I'd mention it. :)   
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter One: Once More Unto The Breach... ~**

Maybe, just maybe, I should have thought a bit more about gods, and the sense of humour posessed by beings that painted wormholes pink.   
  
Why?   
  
I'll tell you why. I had expected to pop up in Lothlorien, maybe even having to watch more of the disgusting display of Legolas getting it on with Mary Sue. Maybe even Amon Hen.   
  
Instead, I found myself in the middle of the Helm's Deep battle on a pitch-black night, ankle-deep in mud and surrounded by shrieking, horrible orcs with bad breath and rusty swords. Needless to say, I was clutching my broomstick and feeling incredibly stupid.   
  
By sheer instinct, I ducked a blow aimed at my neck and waited breathlessly for that Mary-Sueish feeling to come over me, so that I could cast away my fears and wreak a path of angry broomstick destruction.   
  
An adrenaline surge came, right enough, but it did nothing more than make my knees go weak just when I needed them most. Thanks a bunch, hormones! I sent a prayer to the God of Mary Sues, if such a vile creature existed, and waited.   
  
In the meantime, I ducked another blow and dimly saw the head of the offending orc sail into the mud at my feet. Still no feeling of lightheadedness, confidence or particular courage coming on.   
  
I stared blearily at the Rohan soldier who had just saved my life and was busy hacking at orcs left and right. His horse, a huge white beast, seemed to enjoy trampling on them, judging by its gleeful whinnying. The huge hoofs kept missing me, though. Did Mary Sue charms work on horses?   
  
It dimly registered somewhere in my mind that the rider was screaming something, and making an upward motion with his free hand. He wanted me to ...   
  
Damn, my brain seemed to float on a sea of fluffy whiteness. I shook my head to clear it. The air stank, and the weather was even more depressing than at home.   
  
The man bellowed something again, this time more impatiently, and nudged his mount closer. His hand waved insistently in front of my nose, and suddenly I understood. He wanted me to get in front of him on the horse. Yep, he wanted me to get on a huge, temperamental, saddle-free stallion.   
  
I swallowed. The man, courteous though he was, decided he didn't have time to argue with a mad, broomstick-carrying woman with wild hair. At least I suppose that's what he thought, because he stopped gesturing and grabbed my wrist, pulling me up and settling me on the back of the horse as if I had been a feather.   
  
I would have felt flattered if I hadn't felt so darn sick. I looked frantically over the battlefield and noticed a new wave of black, stinking orcness spilling towards us. I clutched the broom so hard my knuckles whitened as the horse executed an about-turn and started to press through the mass of fighting bodies towards the fortress.   
  
It was then that I realized I must have orbed in at the very forefront of battle, and the man sitting behind me would have his work cut out for him getting me to the relative security of the Deeping wall. I also realized that the probability of us getting there with all our limbs still attached and functioning was very close to null.   
  
The man didn't comment on my unspoken fears. He had his hands full waving that sword around, blocking blows. Besides, the battle provided enough sound effects for both of us; the ceaseless shrieking of the orcs, the cries of the wounded, the clash of metal against metal and the screams of the dying mingled to a deafening cacophony of sound.   
  
I ducked low behind the strong neck of the horse, gripping the mane with one hand and the broomstick with the other. I hoped that way I was less of an encumbrance for the rider. It was incredible how the horse defended itself, although lots of blows were directed its way. Horseless, we would have been dead in seconds.   
  
However, as we got closer to the wall, something strange happened. The ranks of Rohirrim were getting tighter and I suppose some of them had been brought up to protect women and children, for soon we were surrounded by a small wall of soldiers who were bent on helping their comrade fulfil his mission.   
  
From there, it got much easier. However, I had no idea how we were supposed to get behind the wall -- I doubted anybody would open the gates for us. My doubts were temporarily suspended as I received a blow to the head. I passed out, or at least was so dizzy that I didn't take any notice of my surroundings for a little while. When I woke up again, we were up on the battlement and I didn't have the foggiest idea how we got there.   
  
To this day, I still suspect some continuity-challenged god.   
  
Still a little dizzy, I blinked, trying to adjust again to the darkness. We dismounted then and I heard the sounds of a fight just a little further away. This was basically the fault of the participating orcs who always had to make an incredible racket while fighting.   
  
I strained to see, and froze. Just in front of us on the wall, twisting and weaving through his opponents, knives flashing in the darkness, was the elf. I recognized him mostly because of his bright hair, but he had better eyesight that I did -- I think he saw us approach rather early. We came to a halt in front of him just as he finished. With a quick move he slashed the last goblin viciously across the throat, then turned and frowned at me.   
  
"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" He didn't sound either medieval, nor polite. The soldier hastened to explain that he had found me in the thick of battle and naturally had to bring me here, since I would otherwise have certainly been killed.   
  
Legolas threw him a disgusted look. "I think she would have managed quite nicely on her own, Naomir."   
  
The man backed away a few steps. "So you know the lady?"   
  
"Yes. You can leave her in my care." An unspoken 'although I'd rather rot' hung embarassingly in the air. Still, with a last awkward bow towards me, Naomir left. I barely managed to mumble my thanks before he disappeared.   
  
Fidgeting with my broom, I turned back to see Legolas still staring at me. I could almost guess what was going through his mind. The average orc at least had the decency to shriek and froth at the mouth -- I think his recent encounters with women from my world had enforced the belief that females tended to froth at the brain, which was both more dangerous and infinitely harder to discern.   
  
"So you are back," he stated coolly. Then he stepped closer and looked me over. He didn't seem pleased with what he saw.   
  
"What the hell have you done with your hair?" he demanded after an uncomfortable silence.   
  
Instinctively, my hand went up to finger the object of his wrath. I was shocked to encounter perfect, lustruous locks that obviously spilled down my back down to my waist. It was a long cry from the birds' nest with which I had left home -- it rivalled elf hair in perfection. Well, at least the color was as dark as ever.   
  
I should have been happy, but Legolas' look didn't encourage that sort of reaction. "What?" I mumbled as he continued to frown.   
  
"You do not also happen to possess a marvelous singing voice, do you," he said chillingly.   
  
I shook my head. I _so_ hoped I didn't. But anyway, I wouldn't put my singing talents to the test in the middle of a bloody battle. And mentioning battle, I distinctly remembered there had been no men in front of the walls at Helm's Deep -- with the exception of two brief bursts designed to defend the weakened gate. The altered course of the battle made me nervous. Legolas' expression made me nervous, too -- almost as nervous as the modern-day slang he had taken to using. I almost hoped for a few enemies, but they had conveniently retreated for now.   
  
Still, I wouldn't back away. This wasn't exactly the romantic encounter I had pictured, and I felt vaguely furious.   
  
"Why do you ask? About the singing, I mean?" I croaked, less courageously than I wanted to.   
  
"_Because_", he menaced, "The last time I met one of your kind, I had to spend the month after Amon Hen honeymooning with a dumb red-haired bimbo instead of going after Merry and Pippin as I wanted to!"   
  
We were almost nose to nose now and the elf was suceeding in staring me down. I didn't like it. Also, I wondered from where he knew words like 'bimbo'. "And after that?"   
  
He smiled. It wasn't pleasant. "It seems her story ended there. Besides, a vague promise of happily ever after and nice hair isn't enough to hold an elf who doesn't want to be held. I left her sleeping under some bush."   
  
I didn't have an answer to that. After all, I had nice hair and no battle skills. I didn't appreciate the humour, godlike though it seemed to be.   
  
Anyway, I had more pressing worries. If the battle hadn't changed too much from the version I remembered, there was a second orc assault coming, and this time they would be in masses behind the wall. I opened my mouth to warn Legolas but found I couldn't speak. I muttered an expletive under my breath -- _that_ worked. However, whenever I tried to say something about the battle, my voice got mysteriously lost.   
  
Legolas busied himself cleaning his knives for a while, then he suddenly shrugged and went off, presumably in search for Gimli. I decided not to embarrass myself further by calling after him. Suppressing a sigh, I went to the parapet and sat down, hugging my knees. Sticking with one of the Fellowship would have probably been the safer bet, but the elf didn't seem to want company, and the rest was also too important to play babysitter for me.   
  
Abandoning my broom I pulled the sword -- or rather, general hacking tool -- of one of the fallen orcs closer, settling down more comfortably for the wait.   
  
I sat there for a long time, and the irony of it all almost made me laugh. Whenever I had pictured my adventure in Middle Earth, I had thought I would ponder weightier questions -- how my mortality and his immortality would mix, for one.   
  
I had never thought I'd sit on the Deeping wall, hungry and cold and wondering if, when the next opportunity for a meal presented itself, my mouth would still be connected to my stomach.   
  
I looked up at the moonless sky and shivered. If there _was_ a God of Mary Sues, he was a backstabbing little bugger. 


	3. Some God Gave Rock'N Roll To You

_Disclaimer:_ I didn't write The Lord Of The Rings. I don't own the Fellowship. I think I own this story, but that's about it.   
  
Btw, in order for this to make sense, you might have to read The Ballad of Mary Sue.   
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Two: Some God Gave Rock'N Roll To You ~**

After a while, the cold got to me. I must have slipped into a restless kind of slumber, because I was awakened by a loud, deep rumble. The battlements shook -- in the east the sky was growing yellow, tinged with a bloody red. Smoke rose over the wall, hovering in the air.   
  
The fire of Orthanc.   
  
Orcs had broken through the breach and were now spreading behind the wall. The screeching and chattering was drawing nearer; I guessed the men of Rohan were dreadfully outnumbered. Self-absorbed thing that I am, I was immediately obsessed with the thought that it was only a matter of time until orcs reached me.   
  
I was awfully frightened. In my muddled perception, minutes stretched into hours; all around me, the darkness flickered with shadows and unexpected sounds. The battle was too loud, so I was afraid I wouldn't hear anyone approaching me until it was too late.   
  
I was wrong.   
  
When they finally came, it was loudly. They had spotted me and now took their time approaching, like a pack of hyenas stalking a prey of unknown strength. Soon, they were close enough for me to count them, and my spirits plummeted.   
  
It's strange how the prospect of certain death changes even the most weak-willed person. Even in daydreams, my courage had never reached Mary-Sue proportions -- but now, standing with my back to the wall and watching seven orcs advance on me, my vision cleared. Something very small slipped into place with a click.   
  
I clutched the mishappen orc weapon with both hands. I rather think I yelled.   
  
The tide rushed in.   
  
I ducked two blows and brought my sword sharply up, aiming for the heads -- the only place my weak blows could do any damage. I actually caught one of them across the neck. He fell, shrieking horribly, with a partially severed head. The others drew back for a moment, but they had realized I had no expertise whatsoever.   
  
They didn't even rush back in all at once after that. I think they wanted to play a little. Maybe they even wanted to keep me for a little fun afterwards -- I _did_ have good hair, after all. I dodged a few more blows with a speed born of desperation. I think they were more meant to scare me than hurt me anyway.   
  
The catcalling and snickering was driving me mad. The next blow I wasn't able to dodge -- I had to block it. A sharp twist, and my sword went flying to the cobblestones. One of them, a larger, man-shaped fellow that could have been an Uruk-Hai bared his teeth winsomely at me.   
  
"Pretty elf," he hissed. I wasn't an elf, but compared to these brutes I sure was pretty. Shit. I can't believe I was thinking about pretty at a moment like this.   
  
While his companions did their little dance around us, he stepped closer. His hand shot out with snakelike speed towards my face. The contact was fleeting -- a swift, sharp pain. When he drew back my hand rose instinctively to my cheek. His claws had left two gashes and blood welled up from the cracked skin, trickling past my fingers.   
  
Suddenly, I smelled my own blood more vividly than the orc stench around me. He seemed to smell it too, because his nostrils widened in appreciation. He looked like he was thinking about kissing me, the slimy tongue slipping out of his mouth to lick at his lips with slow relish. I blocked the horrifying thought, swallowed.   
  
"Tasty elf." He nodded. His head didn't get a chance to get back up, though. I saw a flash of silver from behind and his head lolled forward and fell, hanging to the rest of his body by a mere thread. The other orcs screamed.   
  
It was Legolas. He jumped over the massive body while it was still falling, and pushed me away.   
  
"Get behind me," he hissed, positioning himself in front of me. Weak-kneed with relief, I did as he demanded.   
  
Five orcs were left. Without the use of his bow, that was a bit much even for Legolas, brutal and swift and deadly though he was. Bending down, I pulled the long sword from the side of the dead Uruk-Hai, noticing that I was trembling and not able to stop it. The weapon was heavy and clanged loudly as I dragged it across the stone. I just hoped I would be able to lift it if I used both hands.   
  
Despite his attempt to shield me, Legolas had got drawn away a bit, and one of the orcs got between us and the wall, thus getting behind the elf's back. The creature stormed immediately, knowing he had to act before Legolas turned again. I gaped frozenly at him, but somehow managed to bring the long sword up just as Legolas swivelled round to meet the new threat.   
  
Unable to break his momentum the orc ran into it, belly first. I let go of the handle as he fell, gurgling. Legolas reacted swiftly, pulling me back by the scruff of the neck. I choked.   
  
Laying a hand on my shoulder, the elf turned me around so I didn't have to watch. It didn't matter. I could still hear the sound, a low whimpering that made me want to cry.   
  
"I told you --" he started.   
  
"Please. End it." I couldn't talk above a whisper past the lump in my throat. The pitiful creature was still struggling behind us.   
  
Legolas threw me an uncomprehending look; then he understood. His eyes narrowed with an expression I couldn't read, but he went past me, drawing his knife. A soft swish, and silence descended. To me the sound of the battle was muted, nothing more than white noise in the distance.   
  
The elf didn't say anything when he came back and took hold of my shoulders. I was still shaking, a low, uncontrollable tremor that didn't seem to ease up. My skin felt both hot and cold at the same time. I heard Legolas say something in Elvish -- a sweet, soothing murmur -- and looked up at him. In the darkness, his eyes were bright and devoid of color, but there was just the barest whisper of compassion.   
  
"Try to breathe deeply," he said, almost gently. I could feel my eyes losing focus, his face blurring slowly against the night sky. The side of my face was throbbing.   
  
"Look at me," he demanded in a harder voice. "We do not have time for this. We must get you to the Hornburg, and I am needed at the gate."   
  
He wasn't needed at the gate. The gate was already lost and everyone was retreating towards the Hornburg, taking cover behind the inner walls. But I couldn't speak to him of this, and I wasn't even sure we would make it. Already Orcs were scaling the wall everywhere -- we had to hurry.   
  
Disengaging myself from his grip, I motioned to him to lead the way.   
  
He didn't hesitate for a second. He took hold of my left however, and pulled me along behind him. I think he still didn't trust me to walk properly on my own. Dumb elf.   
  
I really, really wanted to be sick all over his fancy boots. Either that or sob into his shirt -- very undignified, that. In the end, I did neither. I simply clutched his hand until my knuckles whitened and stumbled behind him through the mud to where the outline of the Hornburg loomed darkly against the night sky. 


	4. The Company Of Death

_Disclaimer:_ Fellowship not mine.   
  
My thanks to everyone who has reviewed, for the encouragement and kind words. I'm working on about four chapters at a time, so my posts will be a little irregular, but there _is_ a plot hidden somewhere beneath the madness.   
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Three: The Company Of Death ~**

The tower was cold and musty. There were no loud voices anywhere, only the whispering of a few caretakers and the low moans of the wounded. Occasionally, someone screamed. Legolas had left me in the middle of a narrow corridor and had immediately stormed out again without a word. I didn't think he'd be back.   
  
I felt faint with hunger and residual adrenaline. I only wanted a small corner where to huddle up and go to sleep, but it was a selfish need. The whole lower level was filled with wounded soldiers and it was obvious that there were too little people able to tend them.   
  
I stopped one of them as I went past her, an old woman with hard eyes and a bent back.   
  
"Can I help?" I asked hesitantly. "I don't have any experience, though."   
  
She eyed me strangely for a moment -- I probably must have looked a sight, with my belly button peeking out of my tank top and my strange orange shoes -- then motioned me towards a little basin in the corner of the room.   
  
"Wash your hands," she muttered. Then she motioned to a row of wounded, lying on sheets on the hard stone floor. "Their wounds need cleaning -- see that no speck of dirt remains."   
  
I nodded. I did not know anything about healing, which I would have if I had been a true Mary Sue, but this way I could at least do something, and whisper soothing nonsense to the suffering. I soon found that cleaning wounds was simply careful and tedious work. The worst part of it was how much it hurt the men. Some of them were younger than I was, almost children, and my endless, often awkward prodding would make them cry out in pain. Many were delirious, too, and would whisper the names of loved ones in an endless litany, interspersed with moans and grunts.   
  
I worked for hours, until my back ached so much I didn't think I'd be able to sit straight ever again. I had gone numb long ago, both mentally and physically. And all the while I remembered reading the book, and casually dismissing the many who had died here, and at Minas Tirith. They hadn't had faces or families then.   
  
The cuts on my face kept hurting, though the pain had soon faded to a dull, pulsing ache. Well, the more it hurt, the better I felt in a way, almost as if I was repaying them for something. It didn't feel right, so many people hurt and dying, and me, sitting there with barely a scratch. I suppose it was during those hours that Middle Earth became finally, irrevocably real for me. Thoughts slipped through my mind without much connection, about those who died in the chamber and the others who would die on the battlefield, alone and unattended. At least in this world of immortals and approachable gods they had the certainty that there was _something_ beyond death. Iluvatars gift to Man, indeed.   
  
The night was long. Then, it seemed almost endless to me, and painful in many ways. My clothing was much too thin for the draughty room, and still after a while sweat broke out on my face and back, cooling the skin still further. I felt both hot and cold, and soon I was shivering again, my hands too unsteady to do anything. Luckily, at the time all the wounded had already been tended to; a few of them had died -- most of the others had fallen into a troubled sleep.   
  
It was not long until I nodded off. It was no real sleep, but it was close enough. I dreamt, half-waking, of claws and grinning Uruk-Hai.   
  
I woke up with a start as a young soldier burst in, his face shining under the dirt and grime. "Erkenbrand! Erkenbrand is here, and the White Rider is with him. The orcs are fleeing, miserable creatures that they are. And there is some strange forest, dark and fell -- it seems to have sprung overnight from the very depths of the earth itself."   
  
So morning had come at last. The grey light of dawn filtered through a small opening in the wall; the sleeping faces around me appeared sunken and ashen.   
  
A clatter drew my attention to the entrance. As through a fine veil of mist I saw Legolas, and behind him was the stocky shape of Gimli. Both looked dirty, and the elf seemed as weary as I had ever seen him. Gimli's helm sat slightly askew on the dwarf's tangled, reddish locks. I was surprised to see the elf make straight towards me, Gimli on his tail.   
  
"Legolas." I nodded at the dwarf. "Master Gimli." I could see from Gimli's blank stare that he didn't remember me, but he returned my nod courteously. Since he and Legolas were almost joined at the hip, strange young women calling him by name must have become a frequent occurence.   
  
I didn't try to stand up -- my back was too stiff. But Legolas bent suddenly down and caught my chin, turning my head so that he could have a look at the cuts on my cheek. Again, his expression shifted slightly to something I couldn't read. Gimli made a sound of distress back in his throat.   
  
"'Tis inflamed," he remarked to the elf. "It should be treated swiftly, lest it gets even worse. There's dirt still embedded in the wound, see?" He shook his head. "Lady, you should have had it cleaned as you came here."   
  
"She should have, yes," murmured Legolas. "It was folly not to," he added, pulling me to my feet. I stumbled forward, still bent over. He caught me, helping me to straighten up ever so slowly. He kept a steadying arm around my waist as he raised his other hand to my face, pressing it to my forehead. "You're burning up," he said, and this time the concern was clearly to be read in his bright eyes. "We must bring you to Aragorn -- he was meaning to treat Gimli's cut as well before we set on our way."   
  
I swayed a little and his arm tightened reassuringly around my waist. I admit that I needed someone to hold me. I was happy it was him, but it could as well had been Gimli for all I cared. "So you're going to take me with you to Isengard?" I asked incredulously.   
  
The elf shrugged. "I'm not delighted with the choice, but you do not seem able to take care of yourself."   
  
I frowned at him.   
  
"'Tis the sad truth she needs a keeper," he whispered to Gimli, apparently oblivious to my displeasure.   
  
"Tell me, elf, have you noticed how your speech seems to change from one moment to the other?"   
  
He raised an eyebrow at me. "Change how?"   
  
"Change from medieval to twenty-first century slang and back again?"   
  
"I do not know this 'slang' you speak of, but his speech is sometimes odd indeed. 'Tis the women that affect him so," whispered Gimli. "Dark magic, surely," he added, grinning.   
  
"She's delirious," the elf muttered, his expression darkening. "You are both delirious." He didn't say anything more after that, only lifted me up with astonishing ease, ignoring my outraged mumbling and Gimlis amused look.   
  
"I can walk."   
  
"And we've all seen how well, haven't we, friend Gimli?"   
  
The dwarf's rumbling chuckle followed us as Legolas carried me down the stairs and into the first feeble rays of sunlight. I frowned -- the comment hadn't been _that_ funny. My teeth had started chattering, too, which was even less funny. My head ached something fierce. Still, as I watched the entrance over Legolas' shoulder, I almost started to laugh.   
  
"You've just carried me over a threshold," I whispered in the elf's ear.   
  
"Meaning?" he asked irritably.   
  
"You're doomed," I said, grinning, and promptly passed out. 


	5. On The Road Again

_Disclaimer:_ Fellowship not mine. Nope.   
  
Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed! I have recently discovered that the downside of writing is that I don't have the time to read anymore. Also, there's a huge amount of research involved in writing this story -- much more than I'd originally thought...   
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Four: On the Road Again ~**

When I woke up, it was noon, and the sun was hot and high in the sky. I felt thirsty -- parched, actually -- and my tongue felt as if it was made of cotton. But my head was resting on something soft, and when I looked up I saw the face of the elf right above me, dark against the white glow of the sky.   
  
"How are you feeling?" he asked softly. I noticed then that my head was resting on his lap, and he had wrapped me in his grey cloak. Though light and thin, the cloak was very warm; it protected me from both the chilly air and the cold ground.   
  
Legolas was sitting with his back against a large, flat stone; he seemed both relaxed and a little wary. _Doomed._ I almost snickered at the thought.   
  
"I'm feeling fine," I lied. "Just a little thirsty."   
  
Without a word he pulled out a flask from somewhere and held it to my lips. I drank slowly, relishing the feeling of being cared for by this particular elf.   
  
"When are we leaving?" I asked when I was finished.   
  
"To Isengard? We leave in the evening," he said. "Many are weary from the battle, and I do not know what awaits us when we reach Saruman's holding, although I have a feeling Mithrandir does. He will not tell, though."   
  
"Oh it's nothing bad," I said, unthinking. "Not in Isengard, at any rate."   
  
He looked sharply at me, but said nothing. I must have looked worried, because he reached out and patted my hair absently.   
  
Suddenly, though, he wrinkled his all-but-perfect nose at me, and pulled his hand away as if burned. Even in the back light of the sun I could see something strange leak into his eyes.   
  
"Your hair," he said in a choked voice. Worried, I fingered a strand surreptitiously and was dismayed. My clothes and my skin were splattered with orc blood all over, my shoes were ruined beyond repair, but the hair was still perfectly groomed.   
  
It was annoying to say the least, but it was no reason to get so worked up, was it?   
  
"The women... worse than bloodhounds, so sly and cunning... Predators." Legolas looked up, his eyes strangely silvery and unfocused. "They hunt me always. The hair gives them away, so soft and shining... And there is always a desire to surrender, to let them reach me. It is inevitable. It might take days, or years, but in the end I run straight into the trap." His voice sounded wistful and slightly hollow, as if it came from very far away.   
  
I sat up, alarmed, and slid a bit further away, so that I could see his face.   
  
"By some trick of fate I am bound to them by chains as strong as they are invisible. They even walk the paths of my dreams, with their flawless hair and bright eyes... I can never rest. Sometimes they are like leeches, sucking out my willpower and bending me to their whims, so that I am left weak and eager to please. 'Tis madness, and I am ever drawn deeper into it, so that just enough sanity is left for me to see what I have become, and torment myself over it."   
  
He had gone very pale. I touched his arm, feeling the corded muscles under the fabric. He was so tense he was almost trembling. Who the hell were 'they'? I thought there had been only one Mary Sue, the unfortunate redhead he had abandoned under some bush. I definitely knew of no other.   
  
"Legolas, are you all right?"   
  
Whatever trance he was in, the sound of my voice must have broken through, because he turned to me and I saw his eyes clear. His voice as he spoke was also sharp and clear -- maybe a little too sharp.   
  
"I am well," he said. "And I do not know why I am speaking to you about this." His gaze was entirely shuttered now, and his eyes had darkened to almost black. I don't know how he did it, but it happened only when his feelings came too close to the surface for his liking.   
  
"Maybe because I am willing to listen," I said quietly, removing my hand from his arm. "Look, elf, something is happening here, and it's not connected to the ring. It troubles you, and both Gimli and Aragorn have enough troubles of their own. I understand you don't want to burden them further, but you need help, even if it's only talking."   
  
"You might be willing to listen," Legolas whispered grimly, "but I am not willing to talk. I do not trust you." He frowned. "I have given away much in a moment of weakness. I can only hope you will not betray that confidence."   
  
"I won't," I answered, equally grimly. "But since you have no reason to trust me, I guess only time will tell."   
  
His eyes were bleeding slowly back to their usual icy blue. "Be that as it may, I am not willing to leave you among strangers. The road to Isengard may seem perilous, but this place is not less dangerous, even though the battle may be over."   
  
I swallowed a sarcastic remark. The elf was in a strange mood, and I really did not want to be left behind. As he stood briskly up, I jumped to my feet with slightly more difficulty.   
  
"Wait here," he muttered and ambled off without an explanation. Not knowing where he was going and when he was coming back, I swallowed another biting remark and stayed put, wrapping myself more tightly in his cloak. I noticed that the material was still carrying the scent of him, faint and sweet. I buried my nose in the folds and inhaled deeply, hoping that no one would see.   
  
Thankfully, I didn't have to wait long. Legolas returned very soon, carrying a small sword.   
  
"You need to learn to defend yourself," he said by way of explanation and threw me the sword. I was astonished to see that I had caught it one-handed, and was now holding it securely _and_ -- oh wonder! -- _not_ by the blade.   
  
"Good reflexes," he said approvingly, and attacked.   
  
It took about three seconds until I was kneeling on the ground in an awfully twisted position, a white blade at my throat.   
  
"You are dead," the elf said, smirking. Torturing me was obviously fun. "And I am afraid we are just beginning."   
  
Ah well, at least he was in a better mood. I shrugged amiably, although my heart was pounding a furious beat in my throat. That blade was _sharp_. "Then I suppose I'll die pretty often today."   
  
How right I was.   
  
The sun was close to setting as I righted myself up for the umpteenth time and just sort of stood there, drenched in sweat and swaying slightly from side to side.   
  
Legolas raised an eyebrow. Putting me through one hell of a training had obviously cheered him up further, because he graced me with an almost-smile in addition. "You move well," he said. "Balanced, flowing ... and you also show me precisely where you want to strike aeons before you actually do."   
  
I didn't have the energy to pout. "I'm a dancer, elf. I was schooled that way."   
  
That, at least, was true. The way the body arched in preparation for speed, the slow twists and fast turns... I _could_ be fast, but I had to look beautiful both before and after. I explained it to the elf inbetween coughs and deep breaths. He looked appalled that anyone would spend years of training on something so foolish.   
  
"Your world is strange indeed, _human_," he said. "But I am confident some speed can be beaten into you, if we have enough time. Otherwise, you can rest happily in the knowledge that you will die in beauty."   
  
I snorted inelegantly. "A comforting thought."   
  
"Well, we are finished for today. Night is not too far away, and we must be on our way come sundown."   
  
I sniffed. "I would like to wash first. You'll never want your cloak back otherwise."   
  
He smiled, this time genuinely. "You can wash in the burg, but be quick about it. As to the cloak, you can keep it for now. I have no need for it."   
  
I thanked him and limped off, trying to juggle my new sword.   
  
I was back after about half an hour, refreshed and dressed in clothes that were too large, but at least cozy warm. The water had been icy, but there had been nice soap, so it was all right. I had kept my shoes, after cleaning them as well as possible. My other clothes were in a small bag I had tied with a piece of string and slung over my shoulder.   
  
The elf was gone, but after a short search I found him a bit further away, petting Arod. Gimli was with him, looking very pleased about something. As I came closer I heard the dwarf bragging about his kills exceeding Legolas' count by one. Legolas laughed, saying that he did not begrudge him the victory.   
  
I went up to them and was greeted cheerfully by Gimli. Legolas gave me a curt nod.   
  
"You can ride with me," he said in lieu of a greeting.   
  
Ah, hell. I couldn't do that to the dwarf.   
  
"I think that honor belongs to Master Gimli," I said with tentative diplomacy. "I'd rather ride with someone else if it's not too much trouble."   
  
It was obvious none of them had expected this. Gimli thanked me profusely for my consideration, for the elf had 'grown close to his heart', and Legolas went off to find me another rider. He came back soon with the news that I could ride with Aragorn.   
  
A few minutes later I was seated behind Aragorn on Hasufel, and he had put me at ease pretty quickly by asking how I was feeling, inspecting my wound to see if it was healing properly, and generally being awfully nice. He was a very kind man, was Aragorn.   
  
He was also rather intelligent -- he had guessed at least some of the truth about me, and as he gently inquired about my reasons for leaving home, it would have been hard not to answer.   
  
"Stupidity," I said at last. "I won't say love, because I'm not sure what that is anymore." I sighed. "I was probably looking for adventure, but what I find here is war, which is a very different thing."   
  
Aragorn laughed softly. "Then if you have not found what you sought, maybe you will find what you need instead, and all will be well in the end."   
  
Well, I certainly hoped so. 


	6. From Mirkwood, With Love

_Disclaimer:_ Don't. Own. Fellowship.   
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Five: From Mirkwood, With Love ~**

The company rode at a leisurely pace. The way led us through the Huorn forest, which was dark and opressive. Almost everyone seemed uneasy, and Gimli most of all. Legolas however was looking around with an utterly rapt expression.   
  
In the end, Gandalf almost had to grab the elf by the hair to keep him from going back into what was so obviously a living forest, even if the trees did not seem to possess the sweetest of dispositions. Obviously the wizard had noticed that Gimli's increasingly hysterical complaints would not have been enough to hold a determined elf.   
  
We rode until midnight, following an ancient highway that was said to lead straight to Isengard. The moon was already setting as we made camp, close to the empty bed of the river Isen.   
  
I thanked Aragorn once more for his patience before I took my few belongings and walked a little way off to ready myself for bed -- if a patch of soft earth with a little grass on it could be called a bed.   
  
Sometime during the night there was a strange gurgling sound, and water came rushing through the dry riverbed. I stirred a little but was only half-awakened by the noise. The sound of running water lulled me back into sleep soon after.   
  
  
  
A few hours later I woke up with a start. Someone was shaking me rather insistently.   
  
"You sleep like the dead," said an annoyed voice above me. I opened one eye very slowly.   
  
The sun hadn't even risen yet and the elf was up and about, waving some parchment in front of my face. He was also muttering. I caught one or two unflattering remarks about women, so I slapped his hand away. He caught my wrist, squeezing it in retaliation.   
  
"Legolas!"   
  
"Anna," he retorted scathingly. Hey, he even remembered my name. "What do I have here, do you suppose?"   
  
I frowned at him, tearing my hand away. It was very clear to both of us that I only did it with his permission. "I don't suppose anything. What is it?"   
  
He thrust the sheets towards me. Sitting up, I took them and found myself looking down on neat rows of curly Elvish script. I didn't understand a word, so I threw Legolas an exasperated look.   
  
"What _is_ it?" I looked down again, and it was then that a light whiff of a flowery fragrance caught my attention. I sniffed. "Is it just me, or is this letter... _perfumed_?"   
  
His look indicated I had put my finger on the reason for his anger.   
  
"Indeed," he bit out. "It is from Mirkwood. A missive from a childhood friend, to be precise. She swears her undying love and reminds me of our vows to be together for eternity or some such rubbish. I didn't _have_ a female childhood friend, and certainly not one with such a ridiculous name."   
  
I didn't want to appear completely ignorant, so I squinted at the signature and counted. I still couldn't read the name, but the sheer number of syllables was absurd. Inwardly, I grinned. On the outside, though, I shrugged noncommittally, just to rile him. The elf exploded.   
  
"Do you know how likely it is for a letter from Mirkwood to reach me? _Here_?"   
  
"Let me guess -- Gandalf?" I asked innocently.   
  
"Indeed."   
  
"Gandalf as bearer of love letters -- that's sooo sweet!" I paused for a second to contemplate the unlikely image of the Balrog handing a perfumed letter to the crusty old wizard as they were fighting. Nah. Maybe Gwaihir the Windlord brought it to him as he was lying naked on top of the mountain, waiting to be picked up by passing eagles? Didn't think so.   
  
I _so_ couldn't contain my curiosity. "So, how did he get it?"   
  
Legolas frowned at me. "He says he found it in his cloak this morning. He appeared almost cheerful, although I cannot fathom why he would. I felt a sudden need to write her back, but then I remembered the other one and the need passed as swiftly as it had come. I wager she's red-haired," he added venomously.   
  
I smiled, just to set him off again. "Could be blond. She's an elf, after all. Well, as long as you're not feeling a driving urge to jump Aragorn, you should be relatively safe."   
  
He threw me a dark look. "Why am I even speaking to you, I wonder," he muttered. "'Tis plain you are as mad as the rest of your kin."   
  
"I get the feeling that you've known madder women than me," I said dryly. "Tell me, did you wake me just to be obnoxious, or was there another reason? I mean, it's not even dawn..."   
  
Actually, it was hard to tell. A thick fog had settled over the landscape and the air was slightly ill-smelling. I hoped the weather would clear up soon.   
  
Anyway, my question seemed to cheer Legolas up. He was grinning as he drew a slim package out of the folds of his tunic. "At least I am not the only one receiving strange missives by even stranger paths. This came for you," he said, still grinning.   
  
He threw the package, which I caught absently. It was wrapped in a newspaper sheet -- the 'Enquirer' if I wasn't mistaken -- and inside was a flat, ugly stone wrapped in another sheet of paper. The stone felt slightly greasy.   
  
The inner layer seemed to contain some kind of message so I unfolded it carefully, then smoothed it out so I could read the writing. Like the outer wrapping, the sheet itself was very obviously twenty-first century material. Earth. Not the expensive perfumed parchment of Legolas' letter but cheap, chlorine-bleached printing paper. It looked like a printed e-mail, which was probably exactly what it was. The message was short and to the point: 

  


'U SUCK!!!!! leeve teh elf alon, u dumb bithch!!!!!!!!   
ps teh ston is cursed!   
pps DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!'  


  


I crumpled up the paper, ignoring both the threat and the deliberate bad spelling. Then I threw the stone away, uncaring that Legolas was watching me with a smirk on his face. Even if the damn thing was jinxed, I didn't think I could have run into more bad luck than I already had.   
  
"Evil tidings?" the elf inquired sweetly. Then he chuckled musically. I wanted to smack him.   
  
I maybe would have, and damn the consequences, but I felt a burning in my palm and looked down instinctively. The skin was very red, and getting redder. It itched, too. I groaned and ran to the river, where I dunked my hand into the cold water.   
  
Then I howled.   
  
The water burned like hell. The skin had started blistering, too. Teary-eyed, I patted at the offending patch of skin with the hem of my tunic, and sort of waited for the pain to subside.   
  
The eerie silence behind me indicated that Legolas had stopped laughing his ass off. And indeed, he suddenly materialized next to me. Bending over, he pulled me up carefully -- or tried to, since I didn't want to move.   
  
"Go away," I mumbled, sniffling.   
  
He lifted me anyway, depositing me on my feet. Then he grabbed my wrist so he could ogle my hand better. "'Tis not your sword arm," he said, sounding somewhat relieved. Right. As if I could handle a sword worth a damn. "Aragorn will know what to do," he added in the same low voice.   
  
I let him lead me to Aragorn, who smeared a minty-smelling ointment on my hand and wrapped it in a clean length of white material which Gimli brought and which I strongly suspected to be a piece of someone's undershirt. He didn't ask questions, for which I was forever thankful. Besides, the ointment dulled the pain considerably.   
  
By the time Aragorn was finished dawn had come, the rising of the sun almost indiscernible under the thick layer of fog. Everyone saddled up -- I got to ride with Aragorn again, who acted as a tourist guide of sorts and explained to me that the valley we were currently passing was called Nan Curunir, or the Wizard's Vale. It was a sweeping vista, looking somewhat enchanted due to the dense fog. Close up though, one could see that the ground was covered with brambles; stumps of ancient trees were scattered throughout the landscape.   
  
I thought that the view must cause Legolas almost physical pain. And indeed, the tree-loving elf looked grim and silent despite Gimli's animated rumble behind him. Served him right too.   
  
A few more hours of silent riding and we had reached the doors of Isengard -- actually the empty stone entrance, since the doors lay broken on the ground. From what I could see by peeking around Aragorn's shoulder, the area behind was flooded. All sorts of stuff floated on the water, which glistened oilily under the light of a pale sun.   
  
I looked around, spotting the hobbits at about the same time the others did. I couldn't suppress a grin. Pippin was snoozing away on a heap of rubble and Merry lay beside him, wreathed in smoke.   
  
I don't know why, but I suddenly felt extremely cheerful. Could have been the weather -- the mists had lifted. 


	7. Mesmerized Or Not

_Disclaimer:_ Sadly, _The Lord of the Rings_ doesn't belong to me. Even if I _did_ dare to use about two lines of dialogue from the book in this chapter... If I never post anything again after this, it's probably because I'm busy being burned at the stake somewhere.   
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Six: Mesmerized... Or Not ~**

Theoden and Gandalf had taken off to meet with the Ents, especially their leader Treebeard. Talking trees were certainly interesting, especially the sort that could rip apart a fortress the size of Saruman's, but I was hungry and tired. When hungry, keep close to hobbits, I thought. Regardless of the time of day, they're likely to be hungry as well.   
  
And indeed, it was the first time since my return to Middle-earth that I got something to eat -- a proper meal, finally. Merry and Pippin had secured enough food for a veritable feast, and to my astonisment it was Gimli who asked first for food and a place to rest. I think the head wound he had received still bothered him a lot.   
  
A quarter of an hour later, while stuffing myself with everything within reach, I decided that I liked the hobbits more than ever.   
  
I must admit that I was still eating when everyone else had settled down next to the broken gate for a smoke and a nice talk -- Legolas, being the only one who didn't smoke, seemed to take great delight in teasing everyone else who did. And of course me, because I was such a glutton. I took the time to make a face behind his back before I dug into some delicious apple pie.   
  
I was too busy eating to listen too closely to the conversation going on around me, but I didn't want to intrude anyway. The only thing that bugged me was Legolas' complaining about their chasing after Merry and Pippin, only to find them, well fed and smoking, before the very door of Isengard. I still remembered the elf complaining to _me_ that he had wasted a whole month honeymooning with Mary Sue. The logical part of my brain argued that if he didn't happen to own a pocket-sized time machine, only one complaint could be true. I told the logical part to stuff it because they did things differently in Middle-earth.   
  
Next on the schedule was a visit to Saruman, which I hoped would be entertaining. His voice was said to possess hypnotic qualities after all. Since I was one of those people who had never managed to get themselves hypnotized in real life, leaving hypnotism sessions with a bad squint and a desire to strangle the hypnotist with his own pendant instead, I was looking forward to the experience.   
  
I should have known better.   
  
Gandalf took his time warning everyone to resist the power of Saruman's voice, that a cornered wizard was a dangerous wizard and other sage advice. I mentally rubbed my hands and ignored him.   
  
The walk to the tower was short, but kind of dangerous because of all the rubble lying around. Amidst the mess Orthanc rose before us, high and black, the stone so polished it looked almost like glass. It loomed sullenly against the backdrop of a cheerful, sunny sky, looking impenetrable apart from one door set high at the top of a series of broad stairs. Above the door was a shuttered window, opening upon a small balcony. Given the forbidding appearance of the tower, the door seemed like a jarring discrepancy.   
  
Nevertheless Gandalf climbed to the top of the stairs, followed by Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas and Theoden, the king of the Mark, with his son. Especially the Rohirrim had a bone to pick with Saruman, so the confrontation promised to get interesting.   
  
Gandalf beat on the door with his staff. "Saruman!" he called in his usual cranky manner. "Saruman, come forth!"   
  
There was a pause, then the voice of Grima Wormtongue, Saruman's Rohan spy and all-around evil servant rang out whinily: "Who is it? What do you wish?"   
  
Mumbles from the assembled crowd, most of them Rohirrim who would have dearly loved to get hold of Wormtongue. The whining stopped as Gandalf ordered him to shut up and get his master.   
  
Then Saruman appeared. Actually, his voice appeared before him, projected onto the balcony even before he himself emerged from the gloom.   
  
"Well? Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all, by night or day?"   
  
The voice projection thingie was a neat trick, and I stared fascinated as the wizard came out in all his color-changing glory. I half expected him to hold up a ventriloquist's puppet and start an animated dialogue. I was sorely disappointed as he simply kept on alternately whining and cajoling as if he wanted to sell something.   
  
However, everyone else seemed spellbound as Saruman talked. Astonishingly enough, in magic I had obviously found the one thing in Middle-earth that could not influence me or hurt me in any way, because I was singularly unimpressed. The way he spoke, I couldn't help but be reminded of car salesmen. Ingratiating, unctuous, and after a while just plain annoying.   
  
Well, despite my first impression I wasn't the only one who resisted. Theoden was too old to be taken by this sort of wizardly trick, and he still remembered the dead he'd had to bury the day before after a fight against the wizard's army. Therefore, he reacted rather violently to Saruman's offer of a truce; his acid retort seemed to shake the other Rohirrim out of their trance, because the angry mumbling resumed.   
  
Gimli had already vented his anger as soon as Saruman had appeared; both Legolas and Aragorn looked cold and impassive. Gandalf, however, looked undeniably amused.   
  
"Saruman, you missed your path in life. You should have been the king's jester and earned your bread, and stripes, too, by mimicking his counsellors."   
  
Ouch.   
  
Ah well, the whole hypnotism thing was probably not meant to be. Gandalf broke Saruman's staff, sending the ex-wizard crawling back into the tower. In thanks, a black glass globe sailed past his head, crashing unto the steps below and cracking the stone. Pippin rushed to catch it before it slid into the water of a nearby pool.   
  
I knew instantly what the hobbit was carrying, but I did not dare change the course of history by taking it away from him. I rather waited until Gandalf rushed over and almost tore the seeing stone away from Pippin, hiding it under his cloak.   
  
What I had not expected, though, were the two packages that sailed out of the same window a scant minute after the palantir. They landed close to where I was standing so I picked them up and looked them over.   
  
I found I was looking down at two bunches of letters, tied together with string. One of them smelled obtrusively of jasmine, and if that wasn't enough to give me a clue as to the identity of the receiver, the little pink hearts scattered over the top sheet were a dead giveaway.   
  
"Legolas!" I called.   
  
The elf ambled over moodily, and I pressed the package into his hand. "For you."   
  
He took it, blanching visibly as he saw what it was. The surrounding Rohirrim smirked. Some things are universal - fat pink hearts belonged into that category.   
  
My package was covered in graphical depictions of torture rituals, the tribal feel of the scrawlings infusing them with a certain rustic charm. It turned out to contain a bunch of hate mail, this time a bit more varied in content. Some of the letters were rather lengthy, too, and quite inventive in both the choice of expletives and the enumeration of torture implements I was threatened with. Atrocious spelling was still a common denominator, though, and despite the incident with the stone I simply couldn't feel threatened by people who managed to spell four-letter words wrong.   
  
Some further rummaging resulted in the realization that apart from the letters, there also was another package.   
  
I had learned to be wary of packages. This one was a nondescript brown paper bag. It was fairly light and offered no clue as to its contents. Logic said to throw the thing into the next ditch and be done with it.   
  
But no. I was cursed with what well-meaning people called an 'inquisitive nature', which caused me to do stupid things like entering protals that were most obviously pink, and opening bags that could have contained ... well, _anything_.   
  
Holding the paper bag upside down with two fingers, I shook it gingerly, and jumped back. Out dropped a middle-sized object, which closer inspection by means of cautious prodding with a stick revealed to be a voodoo doll, presumably fashioned in a crude likeness of myself. It had woolly brown hair, two holes for eyes, and it also sported a rather long pin sticking out of its chest. The pin was also holding a small scrap of paper in place. Across it, the word _DIE_ had been scrawled with unnecessary virulence.   
  
I should have been shaking in my boots -- instead, I was secretly amused. I turned to Legolas, who was methodically slicing his own post into very thin strips.   
  
"Lookie here," I called, grinning, waving the doll. "Bet your gifts aren't half as inventive..."   
  
I expected him to be amused -- he _had_ laughed about the stone. Instead, he frowned and jumped to his feet, walking over to me. "Give it to me," he said angrily.   
  
I giggled. "Hey elf, what's wrong? Bugged you're not getting any presents?" The expression on his face caused me to break out in peals of laughter, which in turn caused my chest to constrict painfully. I tried to breathe, and found I couldn't. The pressure on my chest felt like a vise. I gasped for air.   
  
I wasn't laughing anymore.   
  
Legolas grabbed the doll from my unresisting fingers and pulled the pin out of its chest. Then he grabbed my arm as I fell to my knees, still gasping for breath, and found that air was streaming into my lungs again. I inhaled greedily. Then I inhaled again, just because I could.   
  
"Have you no sense?" Legolas demanded, crouching down next to me.   
  
"Obviously not," I muttered. "Hell. What was that all about?"   
  
"Magic of the oldest kind, but not of this world" said the elf. "Somewhere inside you were afraid it would harm you, and it did. It would not have been able to do its work if you had left it in its wrapping."   
  
"Um, right. Look, I don't think it works that way."   
  
"There was a spell woven into the doll, but it needed you to _see_ it before it could unfold. My kind sense such things," he added haughtily as I threw him an incredulous look. He said nothing more, but it was plain to see that he was still angry. He helped me up and kept a steadying hand at my waist as I swayed.   
  
"You ride with me this time," he muttered.   
  
"Can't do that. It would hurt Gimli's feelings, and I like Gimli. He's small and cuddly and much nicer than a certain snooty elf I could name."   
  
"At least Gimli can be trusted to stay alive if he remains unchaperoned for a few moments."   
  
Since I'd just had the scare of my life I was testy. And childish. "I didn't know my staying alive was such a priority."   
  
"If I want you dead I will kill you myself," said Legolas menacingly. "Slowly. Until then, you will cease gainsaying me." He swivelled me around, pushing me in the direction of the horses. "Wait with Arod until I return. We leave soon."   
  
I waited, sulking and boring poor Arod out of his wits with complaints about his master. It was a while, too, until Legolas came back. He ordered me to shut up, all but threw me unto Arod's back, then jumped up himself and nudged the mount into a fast trot.   
  
Stupid elf. I shrugged apologetically at Gimli as we passed him and the Rohan soldier he was riding with, but he just grinned at me.   
  
The only good thing about the ride was the view. It was already late and the sky was slowly bleeding to a brilliant red, mixed with gold. The few clouds, voluminous and dark grey in colour, seemed edged with fire. In the distance the outline of the mountains looked blurred in the flickering air.   
  
And Legolas' arms around my waist were a definite plus, although it was no more than a precaution on his side. Someone who didn't even manage to read a letter without hurting herself was probably also able to fall of a horse. Besides, he had to hold the reins. In every other respect it was a boring ride, and I was soon leaning against the elf and snoozing away the time.   
  
When I woke up it was pitch-dark. There was the moon, of course, waxing round in a largely cloudless sky. There were also a few stars. That didn't mean there was enough light to actually _see_ anything -- it only meant that the shadows looked deeper and more pronounced against the surrounding -- more greyish -- gloom.   
  
We made camp under some lovely thornbushes, and someone actually started a fire between the roots of some giant hawthorn bush. There was a frugal supper, eaten in relative silence, then almost everyone went to sleep.   
  
I got a place close to the fire but when I lay down I found that the ground was as cold as I'd feared.   
  
There is something to be said about the joys of camping: there are none. Of course there are the stars -- there are always the stars. And the healthy fresh air. But more often than not the stars are covered by clouds, which have the nasty habit to let loose a small icy shower just when one's teeth have stopped rattling.   
  
Apart from that there's always the hard ground, the too-thin cloak, and of course the occasional sudden ant-hill, because not all of us have elf eyes and can see in the bloody darkness.   
  
And I haven't yet mentioned the equally sudden need to go to the loo in the middle of the night. Since the loo is a bush with accomodatingly large leaves and _no thorns _ -- also bloody hard to find in the dark -- and one has to pass the guards (who are bored enough to crack incontinence jokes and laugh like mad at their own sparkling wit) the whole thing is a very enjoyable affair.   
  
Well, after a while of laying on the icy ground I was trembling pretty hard, but I still managed to doze off for a little while. When I awoke again I had sore muscles but a cozily warm back. I turned my head sleepily, only to find the elf spooned against my back, staring at me with his eyes wide open.   
  
"Sleep," he whispered, but his eyes spoke volumes. Mainly though, they said something along the lines of 'shut up and don't get any ideas just because I didn't allow you to succumb to hypothermia'.   
  
I shrugged and turned away. Despite the temptation to ignore the warning looks and do something crazy, I was asleep in seconds. 


	8. Building A Mystery

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ doesn't belong to me. And it seems that I have escaped the stake. For now.   
  
On another note, my thanks again to each and every single reviewer -- I can't find the words to express what a really _nice_ feeling it is to know that someone actually _reads_ your work. I really can't.   
I've come to a point where I know where this story is going, and how it gets there. I hope you won't be disappointed. :)   
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Seven: Building A Mystery ~**   
  


_Elves move much like cats. Also, much like cats, they live in the moment. Whenever they experience something, it is always deeply -- they will be deeply moved by a beautiful sunset, and equally deeply by the loss of a comrade. They feelings go deep, but in a way so does their dependence on those feelings.   
  
They_ need _the joy. They_ need _the sorrow. Elves are the kind of species that can get high on_ trees.   
  
_They are going through the world with their eyes wide open, always waiting for something that will set their little hearts aflutter. Elves are like that, and the world is their oyster.   
  
Well, Middle-earth anyway. And with elves, it always has to be more -- more beauty, more life, more wisdom..._   
  
_Apart from that, they are undeniably beautiful. They move smoothly, always aware of their surroundings in a way a human could never be. They also have pointy ears, pleasant voices, and hair you instinctively want to stroke... And, of course, they have claws.   
  
Elves can be nice, when it suits them. But they can also be_ vicious...   
  
  
  
I woke up from being joggled. "Earthquake...," I mumbled, and tried to turn over in the misguided hope that this would make the ground stop shaking.   
  
Only I wasn't on the ground, as I soon noticed -- instead, I was being carried around by the elf again. I looked blearily about at the people and horses trampling agitatedly around the camp. Then I looked up at the elf. It was demeaning, being carried around all the time like that.   
  
"Why didn't you wake me?"   
  
"I tried, believe me."   
  
Sometimes I got the feeling he was just carrying me around so he could brag with his strength. "Are we leaving already? It's in the middle of the night. And you can put me down. I'm awake."   
  
He threw me over Arod's back, then jumped lightly into the saddle behind me, getting hold of me again just in time to prevent me from slipping down on the other side. "Indeed," he said. "I can see how awake."   
  
There was a hiss behind us as someone put out the fire. Hasufel whinnied somewhere on the left, but it wasn't only him. All the horses were restless, and their riders had problems keeping them in line.   
  
Legolas didn't seem to want to wait. He nudged Arod into a gallop, and I soon heard the thundering of hooves right behind us as the rest of the company closed in. The cold air rushing against my face was as effective as a slap in returning my memories. Pippin must have looked into the palantir, and seen Sauron. This meant Gandalf had departed for Minas Tirith, and the Nazgul had flown over the camp. I dimly remembered a dark shadow and a feeling of utter coldness, but I had thought it was a dream. Still, hadn't I dreamed of elves?   
  
This also meant that Aragorn had the seeing stone now. I wondered what would happen to me when he decided to take the Paths of the Dead. I was pretty sure I wouldn't tag along, what with me being a normal person and entirely unimportant besides. I would slow them down. And it wasn't my adventure.   
  
Well, at least I could enjoy the ride this time. It was freezing cold, and the elf was holding me a little tighter this time, probably hoping to keep me from falling off the horse _and_ warm me in addition.   
  
Despite everything, I managed to fall asleep yet _again_.   
  
I didn't wake up refreshed this time around either. And I jumped with fright as I noticed that we were surrounded by an entirely different company than the one we had left with. I looked around in panic for Gimli and Aragorn -- and indeed there they were, only a few feet away. Riding together, too -- when the hell had Aragorn switched horses?   
  
Legolas had noticed my panic. "Dunedain from the North," he whispered into my ear. "Rangers. They joined us a while ago. Needless to say, you were sleeping."   
  
The rangers. Was I going to sleep through _all_ the good bits? No, not really. Somehow I suspected I would always be awake for the battles.   
  
"I was only dozing," I whispered back.   
  
"Certainly," the elf said dryly.   
  
A gust of wind from the side blew his hair into my face, where it fluttered silkily across my nose. It smelled divine.   
  
"How long till we reach the Hornburg?" I asked to cover the fact that I was getting light-headed by sniffing on his hair. His _hair_, for pete's sake!   
  
"We ought to be there come dawn," he answered, bending closer so I could hear him better. "Then you can have a proper nap. You must be tired, after all."   
  
I pushed his hair out of my face. "Actually I'm feeling quite fit, thank you."   
  
He laughed at that, a low pleasant sound that made my toes curl. Well, at least I was able to amuse him. Being an amusing dead weight was better than being a perpetually annoying dead weight, I told myself.   
  
I was wrong.   
  
We reached the Hornburg by dawn, and left again at midday -- the rangers, the sons of Elrond (Elladan and Elrohir), Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn and I. Aragorn had decided to take the Paths of the Dead. I'm not sure why they took me with them, but it became the longest day of my life.   
  
From that moment on, Legolas' mood changed so abruptly I could have sworn he was suddenly a different person. He spent the day harassing me about letters I hadn't written -- it seemed Elladan and Elrohir had delivered another batch from the lovesick admirers of Mirkwood's most beautiful elf -- and teasing me about my uselessness and good hair until I thought I would start to cry.   
  
Not that I would have ever given him the satisfaction.   
  
Anyway, it was not the teasing. Good-natured teasing I could take. I could laugh about it. But when Legolas teased, his voice sometimes got the sort of steely undertone that expressed clearly that even if the words were said in jest, the underlying message wasn't. (The underlying message being something along the lines of 'you are dumb, you are worthless, and I really _do_ hate your hair'.) Needless to say, it did wonders for my mood.   
  
I think I could have taken even that sort of thing from a rash young man. But Legolas was neither rash nor young. He was a three thousand year old elf who knew exactly what he was doing. And saying. So whenever he said something mean, I could be sure he meant it exactly that way.   
  
The only question was -- why?   
  
I had never thought I would accuse an elf of erratic behaviour, but I was starting to suspect something wasn't entirely right with this particular one. Since I didn't like his mood, I tried to keep to myself -- I rode with one of the rangers instead of him, and I never sought him out during the few breaks we took on the way to Dunharrow.   
  
Trouble was, I didn't need to, since he always found me. For sword practice, mostly, but often enough during this never-ending day, it seemed to be only for a little callous fun.   
  
Often he rode alongside us, Gimli grim and quiet behind him, and talked to me. Sometimes he would be nice for a whole while, even caring, and then suddenly his eyes would darken, and he would let loose a remark that made me want to slap him. Generally, he seemed torn between a desire to be friendly and protective and another, equally strong urge to wring my neck. He did not indulge either wish overmuch, but I could see it was costing him.   
  
In other news, I had stopped getting both letters and poisoned gifts since Isengard. The mystery was solved on the morning of the next day durning another short break. I went to a stream nearby to wash, and found Legolas viciously dissecting another so-called gift he had obviously never planned to give me. I knew it was meant for me mainly because of the scrawlings on the wrapping that lay crumpled on the ground beside him.   
  
I was touched, even if I pretended to ignore what he was doing.   
  
However, even if one question was answered, it brought up even more questions. Why was he so jumpy around me all of a sudden? Also, he still hated my hair with a passion. I had half-jokingly considered shaving my head so he would stop torturing me about it, but I wasn't even sure it would work.   
  
That night, it started braiding itself in my sleep. 


	9. Enter Mephisto Or His Brother

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ is not mine. Any original character you might encounter in this crazy fic _does_ belong to me, however. As does the wackier part of the plot.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Eight: Enter Mephisto (Or His Brother) ~**   
  
  
  


I woke up to a feeling of acute relief. I hadn't been strangled by my hair during the night, which had featured many colorful dreams, all of them a variation of exactly that theme. Creepy hair 101. I didn't dare touch the braid, however, for fear it would jump and bite me. Or whatever hair with a personality did when it was angry of just plain bored.   
  
I swore I would never again enter strange portals in the name of luuuurve. I still thought the 'opportunity' offered to me in the beginning was the equivalent of a self-directed soap opera for some supernatural entity (or entities) -- an in-house production, so to speak. And in entering that pink portal, I must have inadvertently signed some kind of agreement I was unaware of. Some divine power had given me what I thought I wanted, and now I was paying them back. Tenfold, in my own humble opinion.   
  
I almost pitied Legolas, who, to my knowledge, had never signed anything and was still hounded by girls everywhere he went -- if not in person, then at least in the form of perfumed and monstrously embarrassing letters. For all I knew, his parents could have sealed an arcane pact wishing for an unnaturally beautiful child, and now he was paying the price. Everything was possible. And I had really been watching too much science-fiction television back home. Still, I grinned over the thought.   
  
I clung to my warped sense of humour for the remainder of the morning. I needed it sorely, too. I was riding with Legolas again -- he had lain next to me during the night, and after waking me up in his usual gentle manner and allowing me five minutes for washing in a small stream (it was incredible how many small streams there were between Isengard and Edoras), he had all but thrown me unto Arod's back. Again.   
  
I could only guess that he had witnessed the hair episode and was hoping to protect me from its wrath, should it unexpectedly turn on me. Or witness my slow strangulation, if it came to that. It was ironic, really. Other people got useful magical swords and stuff -- I got magical hair. Or maybe it was a secret weapon for slaying orcs and I was too dumb to realize it?   
  
I decided to discontinue that line of thought very quickly and try to start a conversation with the elf instead.   
  
It went something like this:   
  
"So, are you in a better mood today?"   
  
Silence.   
  
"I _can_ ride with someone else if it's too much bother..."   
  
A vague grunting sound that could have meant anything.   
  
"No, really. I can."   
  
He looked down at me then, his eyes two narrow slits of ice. "Is there a problem?"   
  
You are an extremely boring conversationalist, I wanted to say, but what came out was a feeble, "No, not at all."   
  
He smiled grimly. "Good."   
  
Needless to say, I was silent for the rest of the ride. Thankfully we stopped around noon in a small, sunny glade, where another stream trickled merrily between the trees. I went over to Gimli, who had proven to be much more fun than his elvish friend, and had a nice long chat. I think he pitied me a little, too. Legolas hadn't been exactly nice lately.   
  
I pitied myself too as time came to break camp and I found myself slouching towards Arod.   
  
But then, without warning, the world around me dropped into slow motion. I turned carefully, proving to myself that I was very capable of moving at normal speed -- unlike everyone else, obviously. The very air seemed to have slowed, become more viscuous somehow. People and trees had taken on a golden hue and looked slightly out of focus. And there was some sort of shimmering light curtain separating me from the rest of the world.   
  
What the hell...   
  
"Over here," called a voice. I spun around. A man was standing a few feet away from me -- small and clad in a dark grey pinstripe suit. He carried what looked like a stack of documents under his arm, and his seriously thinning hair had long receded to a more comfortable and less exposed region at the back of his head. He looked like an accountant. Or a lawyer.   
  
"Yes?" I said, because I couldn't think of anything else.   
  
"Do not worry about your companions -- I will restore them to normal time in no time at all," he said, advancing to shake my hand. "Haha." Flummoxed, I allowed the familiarity.   
  
"I'm here for a business proposition," he continued. "My superiors have noticed your attachment to a certain member of the elvish race, one--" here he leafed through his documents before continuing, "Ah, here we are: one Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, king of Mirkwood -- incidentally, good choice there. A member of a royal house -- although they all are, one way or the other. Haha, indeed."   
  
"Well, about the proposition -- we would like to offer you immortality, since we think you might be open to the concept at this point in time."   
  
I stared somewhat stupidly. "Immortality," I repeated.   
  
"Indeed. So you can," here he felt the need to leaf through his files again, "_'enjoy eternity in the strong arms of your loved one, cherish a love unfettered by the chains of time, growing ever deeper and more radiant with the passage of the millenia.'_"   
  
"Umm, right." I blinked. "I assume there is some way I'm supposed to pay for this eternal bliss with my loved one, isn't there."   
  
He nodded, evidently pleased with my superior powers of deduction. Then he leafed some more through his portfolio, finally pulling out a decoratively vellum-bound set of pages.   
  
"Ah, indeed." He motioned toward a tightly written paragraph on the first page. "It says here: _'One set of pointy ears and unlimited lifespan (with the exception of accidents or sickness due to magical influence) in exchange for one soul, slightly worn.'_" He gestured delicately, the sunlight glinting on his nearly bald head and polished wing tips. "This also includes heightened sensory awareness, good to excellent singing voice and the ability to speak, write and read various Elvish dialects. Oh, and good hair, of course. Elves are very sensitive about their hair."   
  
As if I hadn't noticed.   
  
"I already have good hair, thank you," I replied therefore, somewhat acidly. "But just out of curiosity -- have you conducted many transactions of the sort?"   
  
"I am not at liberty to talk about my other clients." He actually sounded miffed.   
  
"Hmmm. Do you belong to a... local... institution, then?"   
  
This time he looked slightly disgusted. "Not exactly. The surroundings _are_ slightly provincial, as are the local... _entities_."   
  
Aha. I assumed he meant the Valar. Cheeky little fellow.   
  
"Well, I'm sure you provide excellent services," I murmured, slowly recovering. "Sadly, I see no pressing reason to sell my soul just now, but if that changes I'll be happy to get back on your offer." Well, that _was_ true. It's not as if the elf was jumping me or anything.   
  
He nodded, gracing me with an ingratiating smile. "Naturally. We are aware that this is a _life-changing_ decision indeed. Haha. Feel free to contact us any time."   
  
I found my hand held in a limp grip. He shook it weakly, twice, and vanished without any effects at all. I don't know why, but I had half expected a puff of smoke to dissipate in his wake. And did I imagine it or had he looked at the elf before leaving, a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes?   
  
The light curtain still shimmered, the world around me moving in slow motion, as if through liquid honey. Legolas was walking towards me, and I got to admire him a little through the haze of light. Even extremely slowed down, his movements were still fluid, and utterly male.   
  
I sighed, a little dazed, and looked down at the gold-gilded business card in my palm. Very tastefully done, not too much gold, and graceful, unassuming letters that screamed expensive -- and didn't belong to any alphabet I knew. They looked suitably arcane, though, perfectly arranged as they were in two neat rows, the upper of which probably spelled the name of the agency my new acquaintance worked for, the second the name of the demon. Which I couldn't read. Well, I supposed he would find a way to know if he was needed. There obviously was a shortage of humans willing to sell their souls for immortality.   
  
I shrugged and slipped the card into a pocket of my breeches. After all, who knew? The elf might still get the urge to jump me unexpectedly -- force himself on me for some hot lovin' or something.   
  
Who was I kidding anyway?   
  
Well, there at my feet was the contract, although I hadn't noticed my surprise visitor leaving it there. I picked it up, along with the attached series of loose pages explaining the technicalities of soul transfer (utterly risk-free, satisfaction guaranteed), the benefits of exchanging one useless mortal soul for an excellent elvish physique (the ultimate makeover: all your friends will be _stunned_ -- and, let's face it, _envious_) and _gorgeous_ hair.   
  
I stuffed the thing into my makeshift pouch. At least I would have something to read before sleep if things got too boring.   
  
The air fluttered, once, and the world sped back to normal.   
  
  
  
The short break was already over anyway. I allowed Legolas to lift me into the saddle without a word, and spent the rest of the ride in pensive silence. I was still silent a few hours later when we stopped for the afternoon break.   
  
Legolas was astonishingly nice all of a sudden. I was pacing around trying to revive my stiff legs as he came over and offered me a thin wafer of some cake or other. I looked suspiciously up at him.   
  
"Lembas," he said. "Elladan brought some from Rivendell. Try it. 'Tis sweet, and filling."   
  
I thanked him and took a cautious bite. Then I thanked him again, with significantly more enthusiasm.   
  
Just then, he did the worst thing he could have done under the circumstances: he smiled at me. Without even the smallest hint of mocking or malice -- just an open, relaxed, sweetly dimpled smile that made my knees go absolutely weak. Then he turned and left to talk with the other two elves some more.   
  
Damn that elf! If only the dimples hadn't been so utterly, heart-wrenchingly adorable.   
  
I turned away so I could leaf surreptitiously through the stack of pages in my bag, munching on the piece of lembas as I searched. And a few minutes later there it was, under 'Section %^* ~ Insignificant Drawbacks': 

_**Subparagraph X#*@ ~** Irresistible urge to hug trees._

Well, I could live with that. 


	10. Have A Ball

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me.   
  
Thanks a lot for the very nice reviews! They keep me writing while I should be doing something entirely different (like working). I'm sorry this chapter took so long, but it wasn't easy to write... it's much longer than the others, too. :)   
  
In this chapter I've also taken a few minor liberties with the events described in the book (apart from inserting a character from our world and other minor changes I've already introduced in the previous chapters that is).   
  
And now I'll definitely stop rambling. Happy reading!   
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Nine: Have A Ball ~**   
  
  
  


I didn't have as much time as I'd liked to think about the strange little man and even stranger contract as long as I would have liked, because we arrived in Dunharrow all too soon. It dawned on me how soon that really was as everyone had taken care of their horses and we entered the main hall, weary and covered in dust -- except for the three elves that is, who were still annoyingly clean. The mistress of the castle, clothed in blinding white, was already rushing down the main staircase to greet us -- and I use the word only in the most general sense, since her smile was for everyone, but her eyes clung to Aragorn like a pair of telekinetic leeches.   
  
I had never met Eowyn before, and about three minutes after making her acquaintance, I was insanely grateful I had been spared the experience for so long.   
  
For one, she was so beautiful it made me feel extremely ugly in comparison. White-blond and delicate-looking, she walked daintily into the hall, hands extended in greeting -- it was poor Aragorn who suddenly found his hands imprisoned in a grasp of steel. Close-up, I could see that she was really tall, despite the air of ethereal delicacy. Her eyes were light blue, and the coldest I had ever seen.   
  
Pleasantries were exchanged. Eowyn extended an invitation to supper, I got a haughty look in passing that made me want to scratch her eyes out, and Aragorn looked like someone whose execution had been postponed as we finally got to go to our rooms so that we could prepare for supper.   
  
I sighed as I followed a servant girl to my sleeping quarters while Aragorn was shown to his by Eowyn herself. Really, the woman was twice the brat I was, and a blood-thirsty one at that. But she was a princess and could juggle a sword, which was probably the reason why her perverse bloody-mindedness was being mistaken as nobility of spirit by everyone else but me. She also was said to possess a will of steel, something I could agree with but couldn't really warm to. After all, will of steel was an euphemism for walking all over other people in order to get one's way, which usually involved weaker-willed normal people getting trampled in the process.   
  
I might have been somewhat biased to gain such a definitive impression even before supper, but it couldn't be helped. It was clear from the moment I stepped into the hall with my oversize clothes and my toy sword that she didn't like me. The room I got was a cupboard and a drafty one at that, and the walls were mouldy in places.   
  
At least there was a large clay basin with fresh water and a stack of clean white cloths on a low stool next to it. I wanted to wash, but the door kept swinging open in the strong draft. Thankfully, the stool was quite heavy, so I propped it against the door and turned to survey my makeshift _boudwaah_. There was even an -- exceedingly well-worn -- change of clothes, which was extremely drab and grey. Well, at least it was clean. The servant girl, who seemed quite nice, had left some lilac-scented soap too, perhaps in apology. I pounced upon it and proceeded to wash myself sequentially, as it were -- taking my clothes off one piece at a time, and then pulling the clean item on as soon as the corresponding patch of skin was patted dry.   
  
Then came the evening meal.   
  
As I sat down at that table, I was so hungry my stomach made insistent growling noises, much to the amusement of Gimli Gloin's son who had been seated next to me and well away from Legolas. Dwarves were _easily_ amused.   
  
Five minutes later, I just wanted a bucket to throw up in. As mistress of her home, Eowyn was supposed to skillfully put her guests at ease by setting the subject of conversation -- and set it she did. She wanted to hear everything about the battle, especially the graphic bloody bits. The woman was obscenely fond of slitting throats. I would have blamed her upbringing, but I didn't want to give her parents too much credit.   
  
Then the whining about her being forced to stay at home and take care of her people started. Who was interested in what happened to a few peasants and children and other lowlifes? Oi, let them rot! Much more important was that Eowyn could soothe her injured ego by riding into battle and chopping orcs to pieces. She pretended to wish for a heroic death -- and no loss there -- but it was done in such an over-dramatic way that it sounded very like old-fashioned manipulation to me.   
  
Aragorn did attempt to soothe her -- the man had the patience of a saint -- but she petulantly waved his arguments away. _Then_, in a singularly unwise move, he mentioned in passing that they were going to take the Paths of the Dead on the next day. The look he threw in my direction indicated I wasn't included, though.   
  
Meaning I had to stay behind in Dunharrow, with the lovely Eowyn. Eowyn, who had gone livid, and was now trying to convince Aragorn that he was mental, that taking the Paths of the Dead was a really bad idea, and that if he insisted on going that way, would he please let her tag along? She was almost stomping her feet in the process, too.   
  
Aragorn looked livid, too, but for another reason entirely. I mean, there was Arwen, immortal and wise and beautiful and so madly in love with him that she was willing to give up her immortality for him, and here was Eowyn, slightly less beautiful and arguing that, if he was so dumb to throw his life away, at least she would like to be around on the off chance that she'd get to sleep with him before he kicked the bucket and all that rugged manliness was lost forever.   
  
I think everyone sent a secret prayer of thanks to the gods as the meal was officially finished. I jumped up first, all but stumbling on my way to the stairs, and then stumbling again as a big shining object came hurtling my way down the narrow steps. I didn't duck fast enough either, because it buried itself in my belly. I fell backwards to the stone floor, clutching it instinctively as the world went black.   
  
Well, not exactly black.   
  
Not black as _such_.   
  
More a reddish, gold-tinted shade of very dark grey, with a pinpoint of light in the middle.   
  
It was coming closer, too, blinking like a large star.   
  
Or some strange kind of _flame_.   
  
_ Or some even stranger kind of globe, wreathed in flames, and in the center of it, narrow and black, a slitted pupil...   
  
"Hello. I am Sauron, and you are a very unlucky person." The voice was deep and resonant. In other circumstances I would have described it as pleasant.   
  
It slowly came to me -- big, shiny and black... I was clutching the damn palantir.   
  
"Hi," I mumbled, somewhat surprised that I wasn't quaking in my boots. The pupil of the large eye narrowed a little at the nonchalant response. The flames flared a little higher.   
  
"So tell me," it said, "how do you come by the stone?"   
  
I became aware of feelings outside the void -- the stone floor beneath my back, cold and hard, an insistent ache in my belly...   
  
Then I looked up at the eye. As special effects went, it was kind of cheesy.   
  
"I don't think I want to tell you."   
  
The voice rose in pitch, and the flare sent a gale of hot air into my face. Finally, the true Dread Lord experience. "Do not toy with me, mortal!"   
  
I really needed to do something about my belly -- it ached like the devil.   
  
"Sauron, you are a bore," I said, and slowly and resolutely opened my hands.   
  
_   
  
My belly hurt like hell. And I couldn't breathe, only gasp for air like the proverbial fish out of water. But the worst came when I opened my eyes to see almost everyone bent over me with expressions I usually associated with funerals. For the first time since I'd come to Middle-earth, I was the center of attention -- and damn uncomfortable.   
  
"I'm all right," I croaked as soon as I'd inhaled some much-needed air. "Sauron's not very frightening. Not from so far away, at any rate."   
  
"We heard," said Legolas dryly, but he looked a little greenish too.   
  
I frowned, still a little dizzy. "That works?"   
  
"Only your side. It was enough."   
  
It had been, probably. But why did everyone look so uncomfortable about it? Well, Eowyn didn't. She looked murderous.   
  
Aragorn sighed and bent a little further down. "I would speak to you alone," he whispered, so that only I and Legolas could hear. The elf helped me up, and as Aragorn rose I noticed the palantir as a rather large bulge under his cloak. He went back to the table; Legolas followed, half-carrying me over.   
  
"I remember I said alone," Aragorn murmured wearily as the elf deposited me in a chair and remained standing, hands on the backrest. Legolas just glared and Aragorn sighed again. "'Tis not important, though. You may stay. Plans have changed, as you have already guessed."   
  
"Plans," I said. "Like your leaving tomorrow?"   
  
"'Tis not my way to lead children into danger, but we cannot spare you. You must come with us, for good or bad. Now Sauron knows there is one who can withstand his magic, he will think he has found the true ringbearer. He will send Nazgul. If you remain here, you will be caught, and darkness will fall over this land."   
  
I needed a few moments to consider the implications. It meant I was walking into a full-fledged battle. "There is no other way?"   
  
"None that would avoid your capture. And while magic cannot harm you, leastwise not at a distance, torture can. If through you he learns where our true hope lies, all will be lost."   
  
He had a point. Maybe my mind couldn't be influenced by magic, but someone could still very well hurt me by magically hurling sharp objects at my head. I didn't even want to know what some old-fashioned torture could achieve.   
  
I shrugged, accepting the inevitable. "So I'll leave with you tomorrow. No problem there." And I didn't see a problem, really. Could be because various parts of my body still hurt from the fall. Anyway, I didn't want to be left behind with Eowyn, who looked like she could very well act on her dislike.   
  
Aragorn shook his head slightly, murmuring something about the folly of youth. "So be it," he said then, but he sounded bitter. Not hopeless -- I think he would never have allowed himself to show such weakness in front of anyone but Arwen, maybe. Then he simply stood up and left us with the slightest of nods.   
  
Legolas took my hand and pulled me out of the chair. His face was white. And he looked bloody furious.   
  
"We need to talk."   
  
He _did_ seem in need of someone to vent his anger on. Too bad that someone was me. Again.   
  
I was silent as we walked out of the hall and the short way into the stables. I was just turning around to face the elf as a white knife came to a trembling halt in the wooden wall next to my head.   
  
"Whoa!" I shouted. Crazy elf! "What the hell was that for?"   
  
"I do not fear the Paths of the Dead," Legolas murmured, advancing on me. "But we are going into battle, and I will not be able to protect you. Not for so long. Why did you catch it?"   
  
"It's called _reflex_," I spat furiously. "I would be more interested to know how that thing landed on the stairs in the first place."   
  
Come to think of it, people had been strangely oblivious to the fact that no ball, not even a seeing stone, was very likely to start rolling on its own out of a room and down the stairs. The elf didn't seem interested either.   
  
"Of all the foolish--" he started, frowning fiercely.   
  
I'd had enough. "Tell me, are there two of you? The nice Legolas and the nasty Legolas?"   
  
He didn't seem to think that question merited a response. His palm slammed into the wall on the other side of my head. I refused to flinch.   
  
"So what if I'm in danger? I thought I was going to die at Helm's Deep, and I didn't -- thanks to you, I might add. I don't think the odds were in my favour then. Maybe there is a way to survive the next battle too. And if there isn't, bitching about it isn't going to change anything."   
  
There was a long silence.   
  
"Look," I said, "I don't want to die. But if I start to think of myself as doomed, I'm _certainly_ going to. Besides, I trust you."   
  
"Anna--"   
  
I interrupted him again. "I know I'm not a great fighter, and even you can't teach me in a few days. But I'm going to stay close to you, and I'm able to defend myself for a while. Even if I don't do damage, it might be enough to keep me alive until we reach the city."   
  
"It is just as well," Legolas whispered, more to himself than to me. "I will not abandon you to death this easily."   
  
"Cheer up," I said with a conviction I didn't feel. "There's a reasonable chance."   
  
"Yes," the elf said, and for a fraction of a second he looked into my eyes. "But we should leave. The night is growing late, and you need your sleep."   
  
He elegantly retrieved his knife from the wall, and we left the stables a great deal more silently that we'd arrived.   
  
Despite my earlier show of confidence I couldn't deny a certain feeling of trepidation as I made my way up the narrow staircase to my room, Legolas grim and silent behind me. The torch-lights set into the wall at regular intervals trembled in the strong draft, casting creepy shadows on the stone. It added to the gloomy mood.   
  
Why had Aragorn reacted so strongly? He barely knew me, but I couldn't shake the feeling he was one of those rare leaders who took a genuine interest in all of his charges. If you were his to protect, it didn't matter if you were likeable or talented or nasty or just plain stupid. To him, all were truly equal. Some people might have confused that with a blindness to human nature (or dwarf and elf nature, for that matter) which was akin to stupidity.   
  
This at least I knew better -- Aragorn was one of the best readers of human nature I had ever encountered. I guess he was simply a very good man, apart from being king -- which he technically wasn't (yet).   
  
That line of thought was interrupted as the wooden door to my cupboard suddenly loomed before us, creaking gently in the draft. I held up the candle; the flame flickered and went out. Just my luck.   
  
"Good night," I muttered, since the sight of the room had been enough to push my mood to an all-time low. "Sleep well."   
  
Instead of leaving, Legolas peered over my shoulder. "You mean to sleep _here_," he stated, raising an eyebrow.   
  
"Yep," I said with a disheartened wave towards the lumpy thing on the floor. "On this very bed... mattress."   
  
The elf frowned. He could see better in the dark than I could. He held out a hand. "Come with me," he said in a tone that suggested I shut up and comply. Well, I did.   
  
Shortly after, I entered a room that was much larger than mine, and much more comfortable. There was a fireplace, too, and a large candle on a stool beside the bed, and of course the obligatory water basin. Only his was much larger.   
  
As was the bed.   
  
The elf motioned for me to lay down. "Go to sleep," he said, as if it was the normal thing to do with him in the same room. In the same _bed_ actually, as he got under the covers right after me.   
  
He kept well away, though, and I was dead tired. I think I fell asleep soon after.   
  
I slept for a while, but after some time I started to toss and turn. It was so hot in the chamber... I turned around, still half asleep, and found myself face to face with Legolas.   
  
I half expected a rebuke as I finally registered that his eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow and laboured. The light of the candle was enough to see that his face and throat were covered in sweat. I had never seen an elf sweat before.   
  
Feeling a panic coming on, I tried to calm down and think. I remebered there was a water basin next to the bed. I pulled it closer and dunked a piece of cloth in the cold water. Then I sat down on the bed and started to wash his face. Then I undid a few of the fastenings on his tunic so I could reach a larger patch of skin.   
  
Suddenly Legolas grabbed my wrist and pulled hard. Caught off balance I landed sprawled across his chest with a grunt. Squeezing his eyes shut he shuddered once, so violently he almost threw me off again.   
  
My wrist hurt; the elf had a grip of steel.   
  
"Legolas," I whispered. "Hey, It's only me. Let go. Please."   
  
He didn't let go entirely, but his lips moved, and his fingers relaxed.   
  
"Oh, dammit," I mumbled. I had a feeling the elf might go for my throat next. "I'm too dumb for this. I'll go get Aragorn."   
  
His eyes opened for a moment, glassy and unfocused, but his hand was again a sudden manacle around my wrist.   
  
"Don't--" He swallowed with difficulty, and tried again. "Don't tell anyone."   
  
Sweat was beading on his upper lip with the effort of speaking. I wiped it carefully away and swallowed the tears that threatened to spill down my face in a very undignified show of weakness. I had never seen Legolas so vulnerable before and it scared the hell out of me.   
  
"Are you sure?" I pressed the wet cloth to his forehead, feeling useless. "You're burning up. And Aragorn is a healer, which I'm not. I--" I shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what to do."   
  
He smiled faintly. "You are doing well."   
  
I was still worried. "What about Gimli?"   
  
"No!" he all but shouted, sitting up. Then he fell back against the pillows. "I do not wish for some dwarf to see me like this," he said then half-jokingly, as if laughing at his own vehemence. "'Tis bad enough to have you here."   
  
"Ungrateful wretch," I murmured half-heartedly.   
  
"Do not worry," he said, growing serious again. "It will pass ere the night is over."   
  
I searched his eyes for some sign that he was lying. "You sure?"   
  
"Yes. Sleep now."   
  
As if I could. His eyes were growing unfocused again, the pupil dilating until it almost swallowed the iris. I suddenly noticed the touch of his left hand at the nape of my neck, long fingers tangling in my hair. He seemed to be exploring the texture, lightly rubbing a strand between his fingers. I suddenly smelled lilacs, and judging by the slight widening of his nostrils, Legolas smelled it too. He smiled faintly, looking with empty eyes through me at something only he could see. His irises were now entirely dark.   
  
"At least 'tis not red," he sighed as his eyes fluttered close. I lay there for a while, uncomfortably sprawled half across his torso, listening to his even breathing.   
  
It seemed he was finally sleeping, which was still unnatural for an elf, even very much so, but at least he looked at peace. I tried to shift into a more comfortable position and found that he was still holding my hand in a death grip -- not strong enough to bruise, but definitely so strong I couldn't free myself.   
  
His other hand lay heavy against the nape of my neck, pulling me slightly downwards. It would have taken a better girl than me to resist the pull, especially as his face was in kissing distance.   
  
What the hell was I doing having thoughts like that? The elf was ill!   
  
But my thoughts weren't lustful after all. It was more a rush of protectiveness that took me entirely by surprise. I had never felt protective towards anyone, except maybe my pets, and nothing had come close to this fierce pooling of heat in my stomach.   
  
Legolas distracted me by shifting slightly. His fingers moved against my neck, pulling me even further down. I bent my head, causing my hair to spill to one side and down over my right shoulder. The faint scent of lilacs washed over us again.   
  
Legolas took a deep breath, but didn't open his eyes. My face was inches away from his.   
  
I gave in to the impulse and kissed his forehead, lingering for a moment with my lips pressed to the damp skin. Whatever else happened, now I had a memory worth keeping.   
  
To take my mind off things I shortly considered getting Aragorn anyway, but Legolas had been very adamant that he didn't want anyone there, and I trusted a three-thousand-year old elf to know what he wanted. He wouldn't have survived for three thousand years if he'd been stupid.   
  
I allowed my head to sink onto his chest and closed my eyes. I just hoped Legolas woke up before anybody else came along.   
  
Half asleep, my thought returned to the battle ahead. So there was a good chance I would die at Pelennor... the thought felt strangely unreal. At least the strange offer looked more and more like the usual demonic deal in the light of recent events. Stupid girl from alternate dimension sells soul, becomes immortal and dies in accident soon after. Well, I wasn't going to be _that_ stupid.   
  
Not me. 


	11. Light My Fire

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me, but this story does.   
  
  
Hi everyone! Thanks again for the reviews, you guys really keep me going! I'm sorry for the long wait too, but this is a crucial chapter, and it was hard to write. I hope it's not too bad.   
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Ten: Light My Fire ~**   
  
  
  


Legolas was already awake as I rose from a restless, nightmare-riddled sleep. As I opened my eyes I was laying on my side facing him, and he was propped on one elbow, staring down at me.   
  
"Are you all right?" I asked sleepily. There were faint shadows under his eyes, but apart from that he looked relaxed.   
  
"Never better," he said, smiling sunnily at me.   
  
"That's nice," I whispered. My sudden shyness was due to the fact that I had just noticed his other hand -- it rested on my waist. Not that it was moving or anything, but his mere touch was unsettling.   
  
"Thank you," he said finally. His smile had gone soft in the gloom, and something that felt suspiciously like butterflies started fluttering in my stomach.   
  
"Don't mention it," I muttered inanely. Silence descended once again, but it was the comfortable sort, although there were many things I would have liked to ask but didn't dare. After a while I drifted back to sleep; Legolas woke me as the first gray light of dawn filtered through the high window.   
  
We left Dunharrow before sunrise, riding hard toward the mountains.   
  
  
  
We slowed down as we reached a dark, gloomy wood that seemed to swallow all sunlight. Entering the wood felt like a sudden nightfall. And the tree trunks were strange -- smooth and shiny like black glass, twisted branches stretched out in all directions like spindly arms reaised in silent supplication. Black foliage obscured the sky, hissing rather than rustling in a mild breeze.   
  
We stopped in front of a high, polished wall of black rock. An entrance gaped open in the smooth surface, dark and forbidding. The rangers were aware of the dangers awaiting inside, but grimly resolved to enter -- the elves were unconcerned; the horses and Gimli were downright frightened, although at least the dwarf would never have admitted to fear.   
  
As the company led their horses inside, Arod refused to enter the cave. He reared and whinnied, a wild, frantic look in his eyes despite Legolas' attempts to soothe him. I could see it broke the elf's heart to see his horse so frightened.   
  
Still, he managed to cover the horse's eyes with his hands and suddenly he was singing, a suave croon that sounded like a lullaby. Slowly, Arod's tremors subsided; even Gimli looked a little less grim. Fortunately, the horse allowed himself to be led inside. I followed, a bit wary of the inky darkness. After me came Elladan, and after him Gimli, whom I could hear muttering all the time in his low, gruff voice.   
  
Aragorn and Elladan had brought torches, but the caves were too huge for the light to be reflected properly by the walls, and there was the sound of ghostly, distorted voices in the air. The voices of the dead.   
  
Strangely enough, the ghosts didn't frighten me -- although Gimli's suffering was enough to cause me almost physical pain. Elladan and Elrohir were immune too, as was Legolas. The ceaseless whispering was unnerving though, the sibilant sounds sharp in the tenebrous gloom. The torches weren't much use either, except very close up. In the distance, the feeble flames only served to distribute the shadows a little better.   
  
Poor Arod was still trembling with each step he took, and not even Legolas soothing murmurs could calm him further.   
  
After walking in the darkness for a while I had lost all sense of time. I don't know how long it took us, but suddenly we were standing in the middle of a large subterranean hall, so large that the walls were swallowed entirely by the surrounding darkness.   
  
In the far corner there was the glitter of gold, amnd Aragorn went to inspect what turned out to be the skeleton of a long-dead man, bony fingers still clawing at a closed door in the stone wall. I looked away, blinking back tears.   
  
It seemed Aragorn had had enough of the gloom and the despair and the ghostly whispering anyway, because he turned angrily on the shipering, flickering darkness behind us.   
  
"Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden in the Accursed Years!" he spat. "Speed only we ask. let us pass, and then come! I summon you to the Stone of Erech!"   
  
The whispers ceased. The torches went out in the wake of a chill wind, and stayed out. I don't know how long we walked in utter darkness, but there was a presence behind us, and as we left the caves and everyone mounted their horses again, we could finally see the gray translucent shapes of gostly warriors and shredded banners.   
  
I shuddered and clung tighter to the elf's waist as Legolas nudged Arod into a gallop; the company maintained the unrelenting pace until nightfall, when we finally reached the stone.   
  
Aragorn wasted little time -- he dismounted, and blew a silver horn that Elladan had brought for him.   
  
"Oathbreakers, why have ye come?" he called in a hard voice.   
  
The voice that answered was hollow, and seemed to come from the earth itself. "To fulfil our oath and have peace."   
  
Aragorn ordered the ghosts to follow him in the battle against Sauron, and promised them release from their curse. The ghostly presence retreated soon after, and the air seemed to warm considerably.   
  
Anxious to take my mind off things, I helped set up camp, then turned and looked around for Legolas, but he had disappeared somewhere. And he was not with Gimli; the dwarf was tossing and turning under his cloak, caught in a restless sleep. I told myself that he knew how to take care of himself, but the nagging worry did not disappear. What if he was ill again? What if he needed help? He wouldn't call for any, that much was certain. He wouldn't want to trouble anyone with what he perceived as his weakness.   
  
Well, I _wanted_ to be troubled. And I knew I couldn't go to sleep with Legolas gone, so I wrapped myself in the cloak -- his, as the faint scent of elf still reminded me -- and made my way cautiously around the sleeping rangers.   
  
It was foolish to leave camp -- but in the vicinity of the stone of Erech, the dangers, if any, were likely to be of the supernatural kind. I followed the distant humming, around the large globe and down the hill, until the background noise of the camp gave way to silence and, still barely a whisper the edge of hearing, that silver thread of sound.   
  
I spotted him soon, sitting on a large boulder a bit further down the hill, his profile silvery pale in the faint starlight. I considered turning back, leaving him alone, but something in the tone of his voice stopped me. It was low and full, lower than I'd ever heard it from him. The pull of it was almost physical, but I still couldn't make out the words. Not until I sat down in front of him on the grass, attracting an enigmatic glance. He didn't stop singing.   
  
_... the time for hesitation's through ..._   
  
The words threaded themselves languidly through the air, vaguely familiar. Unbearably compelling.   
  
_... there's no time to wallow in the mire ..._   
  
Elven music had been intricate. Clear. Beautiful. The stuff of cathedrals and legends. It had never been seductive.   
  
Not until now, at any rate. There was heartbreak in the mellow tune, and entreaty, and barely contained passion. It crept into the ears and made one want to hum and sway... it cajoled and demanded. It spoke of hot, sultry summer nights and sweaty sex by firelight. In the pale light the elf's eyes were two gleaming pools of obsidian.   
  
Firelight... fire. Fire? I _knew_ that song! But how did the elf know it?   
  
I was just opening my mouth to ask as a tingling feeling crept trough me, as if my body was itching from the inside.   
  
"Anna!"   
  
Legolas' cry registered only marginally; I was too horified by the sudden discovery that my hands were growing translucent. I whimpered as the elf reached for my wrist and pulled me to him, gathering me close.   
  
"Anna, what--"   
  
He didn't finish, and I didn't have the time or the strength to answer him. I could feel myself fading, and although I didn't know what was happening, I fought it as hard as I could. For a few moments it helped; my skin tingled as it solidified again, like ants crawling around inside my body. But then I doubled over as cramps scissored through my stomach, followed by a nausea so strong I thought I would throw up there and then.   
  
Through it all I was vaguely aware of Legolas' arms around me, and his muffled whispers against my forehead.   
  
"No, do not --"   
  
Then the pain was gone for a short moment of respite, and I went limp in his arms. He was so close his scent enveloped me, mingling with the ever-present fragrance of lilacs.   
  
"Don't go. Don't--"   
  
I screamed as the pain exploded back without warning, and this time there was no fighting back, only the burning inferno in my insides and the elf's face, fading slowly into nothingness.   
  



	12. Misery

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me, but this story does. Right.   
  
  
_Miscellaneous notes:_ The lyrics in this chapter belong to _'Papercut'_ by Linkin Park. The song used in the previous chapter was _'Light My Fire'_ by Jose Feliciano. And _Building A Mystery_ is indeed a song by Sarah McLachlan -- and one of my favourites.   
  
What else? Well, everyone is welcome to guess where the story is going! Each new chapter will contain a few hints. Apart from that I just wanted to add how I'm jumping around in my chair every time I read a review... I know it takes time and effort to write them, and I appreciate it a lot.   
  
Oh, and bring on the constructive criticism! It's always needed. :)   
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Eleven: Misery ~**   
  
  
  


I opened my eyes to something blurry and dark blue. I was lying on my belly, my cheek pressed against rough, scratchy fabric. There were no other aches and pains, no organs of mine lying around in a pool of blood -- amazing that, considering that only moments before I had felt as if someone were extracting my innards with a hot pair of pliers.   
  
Maybe there were no aches, but my muscles felt like limp spaghetti. I pushed myself up with difficulty, and stared.   
  
And slowly, inexorably, a leaden weight began to settle in my stomach.   
  
I felt numb. Here was the room I had spent a lot of the last two years in, with its huge desk and even larger bed and state-of-the-art computer, and to me it suddenly looked like something from another planet.   
  
As if in a trance, I turned my head slowly, taking in the details. It was as if I was watching things in slow motion, through a magnifying glass that distorted everything.   
  
My all-purpose alarm-clock blinked at me from the bedside table. Eight thirty in the morning it said, on April the twenty-fourth -- at least in central Europe. It was nine thirty in Athens, four thirty in Brisbane, midninght in Calcutta and eight thirty in the evening in Honolulu.   
  
I walked to the mirror; there were two scratches on my cheek sure enough, healing slowly. The hair was the same lustruous mass of curls it had been for the past few days; it smelled faintly of lilacs. Maybe it would only disappear after midnight in concordance with the universal Cinderella rule? I could only hope. I contemplated having to face my friends' questions about where I had got those gorgeous extensions and how the hell I could afford them. I clamped down on that thought because I felt hysterical laughter coming up.   
  
The cherry tree in front of the window rustled softly in the wind, weaving impressionistic patterns of shadow and sunlight upon the carpet and my gray elven cloak. True to its nearly magical nature the material shimmered where it caught the light, much like leaves in the forest. The green and silver brooch at my throat seemed to glow with an inner light.   
  
My stomach clenched around a knot of dread. It dawned on me as I looked down at the worn-down carpet that I wasn't exactly happy to be back. I frowned at my mirror image -- it was unnatural, really. What was there to be unhappy about? Middle-earth had been a nightmare -- war, carnage, the lack of indoor plumbing (or any plumbing at all, for that matter), inclement weather... My current unhappiness must therefore be a figment of my imagination, even if it weighed me down like lead.   
  
I was certain it could be cured. By a hot shower, for example.   
  
I walked to the cupboard where I kept the towels, slightly shocked that I didn't remember at once where it was. I resolutely took out a stack of towels and a whole assortment of shower gels, peelings and lotions and marched into the bathroom.   
  
I undressed quickly and entered the shower, where I fumbled with the temperature setting, jumping as the first burst of icy water hit me full force. I stood there, trembling as the water gradually warmed. Then I proceeded to massage shower gel into my skin, rubbing it into a fine lather with a large loofah.   
  
The hot water ran in a soothing stream down my back, and soon tears were streaming down my face. I bit my lip and rubbed harder with the sponge, as if peeling off my skin would help erase the pain inside. God, I'd never thought I'd miss him so. Just another pretty face... except that he wasn't. He'd been both mean and caring, and he had got to me. He'd touched me -- I hadn't even noticed how often until he was gone, and now the memories of fleeting moments were burning their way to the surface. Light touches, and cuddling in the night. A white knife at my throat, and his disapproving face above it -- _Do you think you might move faster than a snail next time?_   
  
I couldn't blame him. He had been trying to keep me alive. And now he was going into battle alone, and I wasn't at all sure of the outcome, because something was horribly wrong.   
  
It was ironic, really. As long as I'd been there, I'd felt like a fifth wheel -- but now I was afraid he'd die with no one to get his back. Because he was such a skilled fighter that he was always getting someone else's back. Nobody would think about protecting him, because nobody knew...   
  
I swallowed a sob and dug my fingers violently into my scalp, rubbing the shampoo into a lather. They were riding now; soon they would be entering the darkness... and some treacherous part of me was relieved that I wasn't there, although I was sick with worry too.   
  
I slammed my fist into the tiled wall. I was such a damned, damned coward! _And?_ said a mocking voice. _Do you really think you'd go back if you could? Is a pretty face worth risking death?_ And I cried harder, because I didn't know. Because I wasn't blind anymore. Because if a portal opened right in front of my nose now I knew what was on the other side, and might not have the courage to step through.   
  
As I stepped out of the shower it was into a fragrant cloud of billowing steam. After wrapping a large towel around my dripping mass of hair I brushed my teeth mechanically in front of the fogged mirror. The minty taste of the toothpaste, mingled with the salty taste of tears, reminded me of the small leaves people used to chew in Middle-earth. How on earth could I miss a world where they didn't even have toothpaste?   
  
All right, so they had better teeth, but that wasn't relevant right now. I slammed the toothbrush into the holder and rinsed my mouth, annoyed that both the minty taste and the thoughts lingered.   
  
I went into the living room and curled up on the couch under the elf cloak. I turned on the tv almost automatically, jumping at the sight of a music video I didn't know. The song sounded familiar, though.   
  
_It's like a whirlwind inside of my head,   
  
it's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within,   
  
it's like the face inside is right beneath the skin._   
  
I recognized the agressive lyrics and I let the music seep in, because they reflected my inner turmoil so well. Because they enhanced the anger, and maybe I would stop feeling so sick if only I got angry enough.   
  
I wondered how the song would sound if Legolas sang it. Would it burst out of him with the same fury? I saw before me the spin of the white blades, the impassive expression on the elf's face as he killed.   
  
_Like a face that I hold inside, a face that awaits when I close my eyes   
  
a face that watches every time I lie, a face that laughs every time I fall... _   
  
What did he feel when the blades cut into flesh? Did death have any other dimension for him than another number on the list of his kills? _Did_ he feel?   
  
But no, that was an unfair question. He felt, sometimes more deeply than he should. I saw his face, washed of color in the light of the moon, grim, almost desperate. _Don't go. Don't--_ I drew a shuddering breath, closing my eyes against the vivid images. And then I burst into tears again.   
  
  
  
When I couldn't cry anymore, I sat down and thought. I felt lonely and friendless and desperate, and I wanted my mama. The minuscule part of my brain that wasn't currently wallowing in self-pity remarked that I couldn't very well run to my mother and cry on her shoulder, tell her I had been in Middle-earth, an almost-superhero with good hair and no slaying aptitude.   
  
Anyway, the longer I thought about the whole thing, the angrier I got. What was the deal with the portal, and the contract, and Legolas' song? What the hell was the _deal_?   
  
Was the demon responsible for the portal? I didn't think so. He had simply teleported away, while the portal had been unmistakably swirly and pink. No whisking me away and depositing me on Middle-earth... This meant by simple logic that two different means of inter-dimensional transportation equalled two different responsible entities. It could have meant something entirely different, of course, but I decided to hold with Star Trek -- blue beam for the good guys, red for the bad guys.   
  
I couldn't get Legolas' song out of my mind -- I promptly grew teary-eyed again at the thought of him -- because it made no sense at all. When had he been to Earth? And it was not just the song, it was the way his language was so strangely distorted from time to time, almost modern. There were clues, lots of little puzzle pieces, and I was just too dumb to piece them together.   
  
Maybe chocolate would help. I had a whole drawer full of it. For emergencies, and this definitely qualified.   
  
  
  
I was still sitting in front of the tv two hours later, watching music videos, trying to think, and getting nowhere. I was also still feeling sick, this time probably because of the tons of chocolate I'd ingested. Empty wrappers littered the table. I was just reluctantly unwrapping another bar as my cell phone piped in with a cheesy midi rendition of Mozart's 'Kleine Nachtmusik'. I sighed as I looked at the caller's number on the display, then answered it anyway.   
  
"Hi mom," I chirped, trying to sound upbeat and knowing I didn't stand a chance.   
  
"Hi cupcake. How are you? Everything all right?"   
  
Yes, mom didn't believe in tiptoeing around issues. And she'd probably had a feeling something wasn't all right. Mothers had that kind of sixth sense; it worked even over a distance of several dozen miles.   
  
"Of course," I lied. "Why wouldn't it be? Weekend's coming up, and I get to sit at home doing the laundry and other wonderful things." _If I'm not transported back to Middle-earth so I can keep the elf out of trouble, that is. Mary Anna Sue to the rescue._   
  
Thankfully, mom was instantly distracted. "Aw, baby, you can't stay at home all weekend! Why don't you call Di and go to the movies or something? I used to go out all the time when I was your age!"   
  
Calling Di was out of the question. As my very best friend for ten years, she had an even better trouble radar than my mother, especially if it was guy trouble. And I didn't think I could lie creatively enough, not in my current state. Not with my belly full of chocolate and a full-fledged depression heading my way come evening.   
  
"Mommy, at my age you were already married and three months pregnant."   
  
"Yes, and I still had some fun. You're young and _unattached_" -- ah, here it came, the subtle appeal to my biological clock -- "and you're not going out enough. By the way, is it a guy?"   
  
I thought of Legolas, who was marching into battle with some mysterious illness the book had never mentioned, and I felt fresh tears gathering in my eyes.   
  
"Yes," I sniffed, and only then noticed what I had done. I'd unleashed the dragon.   
  
"Thought so," said mom, now utterly business-like. "What's he like?"   
  
I gave in to the inevitable. "Beautiful," I whispered, swallowing back tears. "A veritable ladykiller."   
  
"Don't hold with those," said my mom matter-of-factly. "Too full of themselves. Childish, too."   
  
I rushed to avoid the lecture. "No, he's very mature," I said brightly. _Except for that problem he has with good hair. And he's a cold-blooded assassin too, at least in battle. But other than that he's the sweetest guy you could hope to meet._ "And he has adorable ears," I added.   
  
"What's that with the ears?" asked mom. "I didn't quite catch it. Are you developing a fetish or something?"   
  
I could never tell when mom was joking. "Just a joke," I muttered lamely.   
  
She obviously decided to let that pass. "So, what's he doing for a living?"   
  
Oh hell, not that. Please. "He's a... martial arts instructor! Has his own dojo and everything. Rolling in money," I added, hoping to distract her from that line of inquiry.   
  
It didn't exactly work. Mom believed in women making their own way. "Well, you're doing quite nicely on your own. Is he nice?"   
  
Nice wasn't a word I would have used in describing Legolas. I fingered the soft material of his cloak, sighing softly. "He's very... caring," I said finally. "Strong-willed."   
  
"Strong-willed is just an euphemism for stubborn," my mother announced. "You'll need to work on that. Stubbornness only gets worse with age."   
  
"Mom, I'm not planning on marrying him!"   
  
I could almost _see_ her waving that argument aside. "Well, you never know. And it's never too early to start training them. Is he good in bed?"   
  
I rubbed my left temple in an attempt to get rid of the images _that_ evoked. "Mom! I don't even know if he's interested!"   
  
"How's Barclay?" I asked, hoping to draw mom's attention away from the elf towards safer topics. Barclay was a cat, a tom to be precise. He was a chubby grey tabby with green-gold eyes. He was utterly adorable and also incredibly stupid, except when it came to spotting -- and acquiring -- anything edible left lying around by unsuspecting humans. I had left him and his mother Cleo with my parents when I'd moved out, and I still missed them like crazy.   
  
"Barclay's perfectly fine. I think he's lazing around in the kitchen. Before you ask, Cleo's all right too. And don't think I don't get the idea. Just try to make sure the guy's not a complete moron, will you?"   
  
"Of course," I muttered. "You didn't raise a stupid daughter." _Ha! I wish._   
  
Her voice softened. "I know, honey."   
  
I sighed. "Mommy, you are aware this call is getting pretty expensive?"   
  
"You're worth it," she said dryly. "Besides, you never answer the other phone."   
  
"Guilty as charged. But that's because I'm never home. Look, can I call you sometime next week? I have to go shopping and stuff, you know."   
  
"Okay, I'll let you off the hook. For now," she said ominously, but I could hear the laughter in her voice. "On one condition."   
  
"What's that?"   
  
"When you've decided if you're dating, I want you to come and visit. And bring the young man along, will you?"   
  
"And if I'm not dating him?"   
  
"I know my daughter."   
  
"Yeah, whatever you say. Bye mom!"   
  
"Bye cupcake! And don't forget to use protection--"   
  
I gently disconnected the call.   
  
Strangely enough, I felt a little better, but evening was still a long way off. Besides, I was running out of chocolates.   
  



	13. Pink

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ is not mine.   
  
  
_Miscellaneous notes:_ To answer Ella's question: the Feliciano version of _Light My Fire_ was the first one I heard, and although it is neither the original version of the song, nor the only cover version, it's the one I like most. :)   
  
And thanks so much for the reviews... I love you all, I really do.   
  
On another note, I'm travelling to Tunisia for a week of sun and fun (at least I _hope_ it doesn't start raining over there...). I'm leaving on friday, but I'll try to upload another chapter before then. And of course there'll be more updates as soon as I come back.   
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Twelve: Pink ~**   
  
  
  


_ I am falling, through layers upon layers of cloud, rushing through the air towards a glimmer of white among green on the ground below. I am weightless and wispy myself, no more than a ghost. I twist with the current and find I can float.   
  
I stop just short of the treetops, flowing gently with the breeze aross the leaves, shapeless, but not quite. The glimmer of white turns out to be a pearly turret; there are more, entwined with the monstrous trees, arching gently towards the sky. There are connecting bridges, twisting around the large branches, delicate and lacy, and so narrow only elves would dare walk upon them.   
  
I dive towards the ground, across the carpet of leaves and into the forest, passing ferns and mushrooms and patches of small bright flowers I don't recognize. And suddenly there he is, prowling rather than walking among the trees. Entranced, I float ahead, then turn to watch him, secure in the knowledge that he cannot see me.   
  
He comes closer, all pointy ears and loveliness. His eyes are large, a pale, limpid blue, in a face cherubs would kill for. His hair is long and silky, so blond it is almost white -- a perfect frame for the angular planes of his cheekbones, the uncompromising line of his jaw.   
  
How old is he? Ten? Maybe eleven? Not old enough for so much angelic loveliness. Not old enough to have that look in his eyes, the cold, dispassionate look of a predator on the prowl. Intent, but emotionless.   
  
There are screams behind him, other pointy-eared, golden-curled cherubs running with effortless grace over fallen branches and leaves, soft leather boots making barely a sound on the forest ground. Some younger, some older. All male.   
  
Their taunts pierce my immaterial ears, discordant despite their lovely voices. Their language is melodious and alien, but somehow I understand.   
  
"Oi, Legolilly! You look like a girl already -- don't _be_ a girl! Stay and fight!" He stops and looks back. His eyes fill my vision for a moment, clear blue darkening to a stormy sapphire. The ice is still there, but beneath it is wildness, barely leashed.   
  
His pursuers are closing in, faster than expected. I am shocked by the bloodthirsty glimmer in their beautiful eyes as they jump him all at once, unrestrained by any thoughts of fairness. The cruelty of children... I see his arm snake out with incredible speed, knocking the first attacker off his feet. But there are so many, and they all want to play... Soon he is buried beneath a mass of twisting, fighting bodies.   
  
When he finally emerges from the heap, nobody else is standing. There are a few whimpers and moans as those still able to move roll around on the dry carpet of leaves, clutching at various limbs.   
  
He leaves without a backward glance, limping a little. There is blood flowing over his mouth and down his chin -- his nose is broken.   
  
Without breaking stride he reaches up to his face, almost absently. There is a small sharp twist of his hand, and the sickening sound of bone crunching across bone.   
  
I shudder, and the scenery turns into a vortex of colour, swallowing him. Everything fades into darkness, leaving only the whisper of voices, tinny with distance.   
  
Gradually, shadows creep into the darkness, ghosts of images. The shape of a large male elf, a golden circlet low on his forehead, pride on his face as he surveys the bloodied, impassive face of his only son. "He already is a warrior. He will grow to be a _great _warrior -- the bargain is being fulfilled." He is not talking to the child; his gaze is directed at a glorious future only he can see.   
  
... the bent form of a willowy female, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watches the cold, dirty face of the boy from a high window. "My little boy-- What have I done..."   
  
... and superimposing them another voice fades in, grating and faintly familiar. "Business opportunities have been created. The standard contract is being revised accordingly. The first souls are expected in about--" there is the sound of papers being shuffled, "about three hundred years. Temporal fluctuation is being taken into account, also overbooking."   
  
... I see threads unraveling in the hands of innumerable red-haired females, silvery and thin. Stories... Distorted images of Legolas, grim and silent. There are manacles around his wrists and hands crawling over him, many slim white hands. And underlaying all of it, barely audible, hissing whispers in the dark -- Mine... **Mine!**   
  
Let the stories unfold ..._   
  
  
  
The scent of cherry blossom was wafting in through the open window. I opened slitted eyes to a new, cheerful day and one mother of a headache. Two red-haired and unsettlingly substantial sirens watched me for a moment, as if making sure I was awake, then turned and melted into the wall.   
  
I knew dreams. _That_ hadn't been a dream. I raised a hand and found my cheeks were wet, as was the pillow.   
  
So now some well-meaning soul was sending me visions. Someone who had brought me there. Someone who wanted me to go back... I knew it, somehow.   
  
"Thank _you_," I muttered, aware that my grip on sanity was growing increasingly precarious with lovesickness and dehydration. "Not."   
  
Hell, I hadn't known you could cry like that in your sleep. My mouth felt like the inside of a vacuum cleaner. I rose groggily for a glass of water and ended up drinking three while I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the wall.   
  
Then I went back to the bedroom to dress. I did it carefully, then I brushed my hair and started to braid it. It continued on its own, leaving me time to pack a proper backpack this time.   
  
And while I packed, I reflected on the images of the night, which were still unpleasantly vivid. The imposing elf must have been the king of Mirkwood... What was it they said? Thranduil, bless his greedy little heart, was a sucker for gems and jewelry. Not because they glittered so prettily, but because his treasury wasn't yet as large as that of other elf kings. I think he would have welcomed anything that would set him apart, raise him a little higher on the elven celebrity ladder. He still had Elrond to overtake, whose daughter was the living image of Luthien, and in whose ancestry a Maia graced the top of the heap.   
  
It would have been just like him to wish for a son who would do great deeds -- a child who would be remembered in thousands of years to come. And now Legolas was a part of the Nine Walkers. And apart from that he was beautiful, more beautiful than Arwen and Galadriel in his own way.   
  
I also remembered the slim female elf in the tower and found myself wondering what Legolas' mother had been so grief-stricken about.   
  
The preparations took about an hour, in which I also forced myself to eat something, and then there was no more reason to delay things. I had unfinished business, and besides I hadn't been able to get a good night's sleep without the elf glowering at me. I belted the sword around my waist and walked into the middle of the room.   
  
"Come on," I muttered to nobody in particular. "I don't have all day."   
  
I jumped as the portal bloomed open, glittering rosily in the brisk morning air. Maybe there was a battle awaiting me on the other side, but here I would only be left with depression and too much chocolate.   
  
At least in battle one got to feel _alive_ ...   
  
I stepped through.   
  



	14. Enjoy The Silence

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me, but this story does.   
  
  
_Miscellaneous notes: _ Here's the promised chapter, even if it's a little rushed and not at all long... I hope it's still better than nothing. :)   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Thirteen: Enjoy The Silence~**   
  
  
  


I looked around as the portal hissed shut behind me. No battle, which meant I was going to live a while longer.   
  
Instead of orcs, there were trees. A lot of them.   
  
The air held that particular freshness that could only be found in forests. And it was a _true_ forest, with towering trees and dense foliage -- so dense that only very little sunlight came through, dappling the soft ground with little bright spots.   
  
There was no path. I decided to start walking anyway, keeping the sun at my back. I had no idea which forest this was, so I didn't have any choice but to walk blindly, stomping on branches and dry leaves and generally making such a racket that everyone in a radius of at least one mile was sure to hear me. Probably not only hear me, but confuse me with a whole army of orcs, clumsy city child that I was.   
  
I could have used another vision. Two hours later, the trees were starting to look increasingly similar, and I was growing hungry.   
  
And depressed. Besides, the sun had started its descent a while ago, and the slanting rays held very little warmth.   
  
I sat down on a carpet of moss and busied myself with meal preparations, which mostly consisted of ceremoniously unpacking a cheese sandwich and depositing the water bottle somewhere where it wasn't likely to fall over.   
  
I ate. I drank. I watched the sun sink even further and I slowly started to worry. I would have really welcomed company... any company.   
  
A bush on my left rustled conspicuously. A surge of adrenaline reminded me that I was quite all right on my own, thankyouverymuch. I pulled out my short sword and tried to walk soundlessly over. It was probably just an animal...   
  
A stray beam of light glinted on metal.   
  
Maybe not an animal, then. Whatever, I wasn't going to charge. I wasn't the type to survive charging. I would wait and pray instead, hoping that whatever it was, it was weaker than me.   
  
Something burst through the thicket, coming to a sudden halt as another stray beam caught my blade. Something short and stocky and with an intricately worked helmet covering a wealth of reddish locks.   
  
I let the sword fall. "Gimli!"   
  
A dwarf's facial expressions were never easily discernible, what with the beard and the helmet and all, but the open-mouthed astonishment on Gimli's face was plain enough. It didn't last long, though -- it shifted gradually, his features rearranging themselves into a wide grin.   
  
"Lady Anna!" he exclaimed, dropping the firewood he was carrying. "'Tis a fortunate day indeed."   
  
I smiled, a little embarrassed. "Fortunate for me anyway, since I'm hopelessly lost." I grinned at him. "With this sort of welcome, I'm happy to be back too."   
  
He frowned, as if just reminded of the fact that I had disappeared on them unexpectedly. "But how--" He shook his head. "'Tis not important," he muttered, more to himself than to me. Then he bent down and scooped up the wood he had dropped. "Legolas and I were just setting up camp, and you look weary and hungry." He smiled. "Follow me."   
  
I scooped up my backpack and followed him, slightly dazed.   
  
"How long was I gone, exactly?" I wanted to know.   
  
"Two months and three days," came the prompt response.   
  
I lapsed into silence. To keep such close count... it seemed rather strange. But there was no more time for thought, because we had come to a clearing, and there he was, as tall and fair as I remembered.   
  
The dwarf grinned, depositing the wood with a clatter right in the middle of the glade. "Rejoice, master elf! For Gimli the dwarf can be trusted to bring back precious things, even if he is only sent out for firewood..."   
  
I didn't hear him very well -- I was too busy staring.   
  
But that was alright, because the elf was staring too. He stood there for a while, the color leaching out of his face. Then he started walking, coming closer with measured, almost halting steps. It was as if he didn't trust his self-control if he came too close. Nevertheless, he didn't stop until we were almost nose to nose (or rather, nose to chest). I tilted my head, looking up into eyes of a blue so dark it was almost black. His jaw was clenched tight, making the clean lines of his face seem even more forbidding than usual.   
  
"Where the hell have you _been_?"   
  
I don't know what I had hoped for. A smile. An embrace. A kiss even -- in a very optimistic daydream. Not shouting. Not the look that said he would really like to strangle me, and that it was only superhuman self-control keeping him in check.   
  
I didn't expect him to grab my chin and turn my head so that he could examine my ears. Small, perfectly normal, rounded ears.   
  
He saw it too, and to my surprise, exhaled. I hadn't noticed he'd held his breath ...   
  
His grip shifted slowly, until long fingers closed about the back of my neck, pushing me gently forward. Towards the comfortingly broad wall of the elf's chest. In the few seconds it took to close the gap between us, a riot of impressions assailed all my senses. There was the fabric of his tunic for one, a subtly patterned, silvery blue on rough, heavy silk, and the way it parted at his throat, exposing a smooth triangle of taut skin. Then there was the scent, a heady fragrance I could almost taste, and the one shimmering strand of pale hair that had slipped under his collar ...   
  
Everything blurred as I leaned my forehead against his chest, just below the base of his throat. Right where his tunic gaped open as a concession to the warmer weather. His mouth brushed the top of my head, nuzzling into my hair. I squeezed my eyes shut as his other arm slid about my waist, pulling me tighter against him.   
  
"Never do something like that again," he whispered.   
  
I allowed my arms to wrap around his lean waist, haltingly. "Wasn't my fault," I mumbled. "But I won't. Not if I can help it, anyway."   
  
Tilting my head up, he kissed my temple. "I searched through your pouch... I was hoping to learn where you had gone. And I found the contract." His arm tightened, pressing me even closer to him. "I did not know the language, and I did not know the writing, and yet I could read it." His voice grew chilly. "Do you want to know what I thought?"   
  
I avoided looking at him. "I can imagine."   
  
He frowned. "Maybe you can. Do you want to know how I _felt_?"   
  
When I said nothing, rendered sppechless by the implications of his question, he sighed and pressed his lips to my forehead. "You owe me an explanation," he murmured against my skin.   
  
I burrowed into him and blinked away a stray tear. "Later."   
  
There was a deep, enduring silence. "Where's Gimli?"   
  
Legolas smiled into my hair. "He has decided we need more firewood." 


	15. Elf In Da Hood

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me, but this story does.   
  
  
_Miscellaneous notes:_ Sorry this chapter took me so long ... I had a lot of work to catch up on when I got back. I hope the thing was worth the wait, though.   
  
In other news, I think the rating of this story might have to go up soon (R should be enough). I hope this doesn't cause it to disappear, or get another id.   
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Fourteen: Elf In Da Hood ~**   
  
  
  


I had told Legolas about the demon, and the contract. Most of it he had already put together himself, astonishingly enough. Still, it had taken quite a long time. The sun had set almost an hour ago, and Gimli had built a fire while listening attentively to the conversation.   
  
"I am happy you refused," the elf was saying now, for the tenth time at least. I couldn't help but feel a bit hurt, although he was caressing the side of my neck when he said it.   
  
"I can see where the idea of inflicting me on the world forever would be a bad one," I muttered. The elf smiled crookedly, turning my legs into jelly.   
  
"It is not that," he said softly. "But this demon ... I think he might take away more than he gives. It is not a bargain anybody should make."   
  
"I suppose you're right."   
  
"As always," Legolas said, smiling again. But the smile froze abruptly, and the arm that lay loosely curled around my waist went rigid. His eyes widened, then closed, squeezing shut. I pressed a hand to his forehead. The skin was hot, and starting to dampen. _No. Please, no._   
  
"There is naught you can do," said Gimli resignedly. "He has been having these spells for a while now."   
  
The elf was gone. I sighed and, gathering him close, leaned my head against his shoulder, waiting. After a while his lips parted slightly, the only life sign in an otherwise motionless body. I became aware of a low humming, almost a whisper. Legolas was singing.   
  
I leaned in as close as I could and I finally succeeded in catching the faint, popular tune. Not so popular in Middle-earth, though.   
  
_I'm a survivor, I'm gonna make it --_   
  
Poor elf. I had to do something.   
  
_I'm a survivor, I'll keep on surviving..._   
  
"Anna," said Gimli quietly over the low humming of the elf. "I have an inkling you know what might be amiss with him. Do you?"   
  
I sighed.   
  
"I do not want to pry," the dwarf continued. "But if there is a way to cure him, I would like to help. He is dear to me, that one," he added gruffly.   
  
I smiled at him. "I know, Gimli. I know. But it's a bit hard to explain ..."   
  
The dwarf looked expectantly at me.   
  
"Well, I can try," I offered. "You see, I think he's being used somehow by that demon I told you about. The one who tried to get me to sell my soul. He uses Legolas to lure women into buying time with him, and he gets their souls in return ..." I paused, not knowing how to explain to someone else something that was entirely unclear to me. "I don't know how it works, exactly. I have no idea how the women get here -- well, actually I _do_ have an idea, but it's rather far-fetched. Anyway, I think Legolas has been abducted, rather often, too, so he could fulfill those bargains."   
  
Gimli had been following my attempts at explanation with a sort of horrified fascination. "You are saying he is being abducted against his will to other times and places so he can consort with ... _females_?" He sounded incredulous.   
  
"Roughly, yes."   
  
"Is this where he is now?" he asked.   
  
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Now? I don't think he is anywhere right now," I said. "I think his mind is currently the only thing that's off wandering somewhere. I think he's so confused he can't cope with it anymore."   
  
"Should he not have vanished, then?" insisted the dwarf. "We traveled with him for a long time; surely someone was bound to realize he--"   
  
I interrupted him. "No, not really. If I'm right, this doesn't happen in what you'd call real time, Gimli."   
  
"I would not call it that," he said, puzzled.   
  
"Well, what _I_'d call real time, then," I muttered impatiently. "Anyway, he probably disappears and reappears so fast you can't see it happening. What to us is a mere fraction of a second could mean for him anything from a day to three hundred years. And he has no memory of it when he returns... only now I'm afraid some of them have started to leak through. It's what's hurting him now."   
  
I looked over to Legolas, who was sitting in front of the fire, gazing absently into the flames. The singing had stopped.   
  
"Yo, bitch," he said suddenly. He said it tentatively, as if tasting the unfamiliar words.   
  
Gimli and I both stared.   
  
"Did I say something?" he asked as he came back to the land of the sane after a few moments, and caught us gaping.   
  
"Um, yes," I mumbled hesitantly, since Gimli didn't seem inclined to answer. "Something along the lines of 'Greetings, female dog.' Literally, anyway."   
  
It went downwards from there.   
  
After a while, the fire had died down to a few pitifully low flames. I was leaning against the elf, half on his lap, determinedly fighting sleep. Gimli stood up and fed a few more logs to the fire, the glow of the embers bringing out the red highlights in his beard. It was just dawning on me that he was quite handsome in his own dwarvish way as Legolas suddenly jumped up, throwing me off, and advancing determinedly on some unknown adversary.   
  
"No, I'm not gay, you stupid little shit! Now shuddup and pass that milk before I gut you, okay?"   
  
There was a short silence. Then his eyes cleared and he looked around wildly. It was obvious he was having difficulty getting his bearings. "Whaddaisay?"   
  
Gimli and I both avoided his gaze. "Nuthin'," we mumbled in unison.   
  
Another few seconds of silence trickled by as the fresh logs crackled in the blaze. The elf's eyes darkened, losing focus. "Just because I have long blond hair and my pants are a little too tight? You've never been to California, have you?"   
  
My head was starting to ache. Sparks flickered at the edge of my vision. Was it getting darker?   
  
"So what. My father is a greedy drunkard and my mother has no spine. I'm too damn beautiful for my own good, and I'm stuck here with yet _another_ stupid redhead who wants my babies and makes me translate Dolly Parton songs into Elvish so I can sing her into sleep with her favoohrite muusic, as she puts it... Ah, don't mind me, man. And pass the whiskey," said the elf.   
  
There was a pause. Then Gimli shook his head sadly. "Legolas is a proud warrior. 'Tis grievous to watch."   
  
I patted him on the shoulder, but in truth I was growing equally desperate. Also, a vise seemed to be closing around my skull, squeezing tightly. Lights danced across the canopy of leaves, mocking us. "We'll get him out of this, Gimli. We have to."   
  
The voice burst into my head at full volume, echoing hollowly. _ Stories are the link -- silver threads, weaving and interweaving... But there are moments in between, when the players are free to go and do whatever they want. And an elf who's had too many women, and who is currently chained to another one who wipes his mind clean with her presence and turns him into a pleasure bot... well, he just wants to get drunk. _   
  
I gasped with the pain, vision blurring. Legolas shrugged. "What about the bow? Don't like it? Well, I don't like your mug either. You want to do something about that?"   
  
A pause as the other side of the conversation was presumably being played out. The little lights were dancing faster now...   
  
"Yeah, we've already established that. Fuck you too."   
  
He was too close to the fire ... I stood up and went over to the elf, taking him by the hand. "Legolas." He turned his head and looked through me with unseeing eyes. "Come on," I murmured, suppressing the tears. "Let's sit down for a while, okay?"   
  
He didn't answer, but at least he allowed himself to be led. I made him lie down, lifting his head so that it lay on my lap. Gradually, his eyes closed ...   
  
Another slashing burst of pain, making me feel as if my skull was being cracked open. The darkness was creeping back, blinding me--   
  
_ A human mind has no comprehension of long stretches of time,_ said the voice. _ For a human, three thousand years are an eternity. But so are ninety, for someone who has just reached his teens. In the human mind, the difference between three thousand and ninety is a purely numerical one. Try to turn it into something else, and the brain simply shuts down and starts playing with images of tropical beaches instead. _   
  
It occurred to me as if through a fog that the forehead I was currently patting belonged to to a being that was almost three thousand years old. The pretty face resting in my lap lacked any signs of the passage of time, but closed lids hid eyes that sometimes looked positively ancient.   
  
_ You might have to risk something if you want to save him, you know. Risk a lot, even. Do you love him? Do you love him at all? Do you love him **enough**? He is more alien than he looks ... _   
  
Maybe the human blindness to the passage of time was a necessary survival trait, I thought defiantly. An elf would have said "Ninety years? Ninety years is _nothing_." If humans started thinking like that, they might as well lie down and die right after birth.   
  
The silvery voice faded in again, now a comforting whisper at the back of my mind:   
  
_ How right you are ... And because humans don't **know** that ninety years are supposed to be nothing, they waste time, and stretch time, and work, and think, play and love... And leave things to the next generation. They plough fields and shape marvels with their minds and hands, because, ultimately, a limitation one isn't aware of doesn't exist.   
  
Now take a human, and let her cross paths with an elf, and then make her **comprehend**... _   
  
_ Elves are chained to Middle-earth forever. But so are the Valar. And it could be that slowly, very slowly, some of them are getting fed up. And it could also be that some of them have learned how to attach that tiny sliver of human essence to their own soul, so when they choose to die, they **truly** pass away... _   
  
I clutched at my head, but neither the darkness nor the splitting headache subsided. The souls ... I had been wondering what they were _for_-- A silvery curtain descended, covered in blurry images. The voice was gone, but the images were becoming clearer ...   
  
_ The elf queen clutched the sparkling gem in a slender hand. The other lay, fingers splayed protectively, on her flat belly.   
  
"I wish my child to be beautiful," she murmured flatly. "The most beautiful elf there has ever been ..."   
  
The demon nodded and ticked something off on a page that looked like a multiple choice test.   
  
"And I want my baby to be happy," she whispered, a tear running down her white cheek. "Forever happy--"   
  
The demon frowned as he searched in vain for a box where he could tick off eternal happiness. Then he sighed and made a few notes on the margin of the page, obviously displeased with the messiness of it all.   
  
"Done," he said, raising his head. Then he held out his hand politely.   
  
The queen hesitated. "He gave it me," she murmured, her beautiful eyes reflecting the sparkle of the precious stone. "When he still cared ..."   
  
The demon waited. His posture seemed to indicate that it was all the same to him.   
  
"Well, that was long ago," said the queen after a while, her voice now raspy with unshed tears. She opened her hand, allowing the pendant to fall into his hand, chain jingling gently.   
  
The demon pocketed it and deposited the documents in a leather briefcase, shutting it with a smooth click. Then he looked up, something like triumph lighting up his beady eyes. "Good luck, madam," he said, and vanished.   
  
The elf brought her arms around her body, hugging herself tightly. "Maybe he will care again," she said absently. A sob shook her without warning. "If I only didn't love him so!" _   
  
The image dissolved, leaving only pain behind. Burning, consuming pain. I reached out blindly, and screamed. Another faint scream echoed mine.Then the pain was gone so abruptly I blinked. The first thing I saw was Legolas' bent body.   
  
He was on his knees, clutching his temples and sweating. He was positively drenched. I rolled to my knees in front of him, Gimli standing helplessly above us. But as Legolas looked up his eyes were once again clear.   
  
"I'm going mad, Anna" he said in an emotionless voice. "I'm losing what little sanity I have left, and there's nothing I can do about it."   
  
I cupped his face, wiping away some of the moisture away with my fingers. "I'm trying. We'll find out what's going on, and then we'll get you out of it somehow. I'm starting to understand what happens--" I winced as pain scissored through my head. "when you're gone." In the wake of the pain, an idea started to form ... "You just have to hold on for a little while," I said urgently. "Think you can do that?"   
  
His fleeting smile had that steel edge to it. The one I associated with the assassin.   
  
"Don't ever doubt it," he whispered. Then he took hold of my hand, and turning it, pressed a kiss to the palm, and another to the inside of my wrist. "You are planning something," he murmured, searching my eyes.   
  
I didn't answer. I didn't want to lie. Take risks, the voice had said. Make a sacrifice ...   
  
Legolas' eyes narrowed, and the grip around my fingers tightened. "You will not take risks." he said levelly. Could he read my mind now or what? "You will _not_ shield me. You will not sacrifice yourself just because when you look at me you see something so beautiful you want to preserve it at any cost. Because you think I am more _worthy_."   
  
I stared, and three thousand years of experience stared back.   
  
"All right," I said meekly. "I'll do as you say."   
  
I kissed his cheek and went off to where my bag was, and the contract. It all came down to the contract, and the bargain his parents had made. The elf king had paid, wagering the future of his son away ...   
  
But no, something was wrong with that reasoning. I doubted Thranduil knew what he was really paying with. He had probably paid with gems, and little magical baubles ... elves didn't understand that sort of double-dealing. After all, in Middle-earth evil was a rare commodity, and highly localized. It needed a centre to spread out of.   
  
And the queen had paid too, without her husband knowing, and for other reasons entirely. Because of love. Elven children were rare, and probably precious. Had she hope to win his love with a child? And not just any child -- a beautiful one, surpassing even Arwen Undomiel in beauty.   
  
I had the nasty feeling she had thought she was carrying a girl.   
  
Even so, what need was there for fancy contracts? The ones signing those probably didn't bother to read them too thoroughly.   
  
And exactly there lay a very tiny glimmer of hope. The thing had to be valid in its own way, because a supernatural agency that bothered with contracts under six hundred pages and the representants of which handed out business cards (have damnation, will travel) were probably anal-retentive enough to care about their reputation. If I was able to find a loophole, anything ...   
  
But still, what had Thranduil wished for _exactly_? A son who would be a great warrior, and a king of great renown in the fullness of time? Or simply a child with a great destiny? Because if he had wished for that, his wish was being fulfilled. The Valar were chained, and Legolas was the tool of salvation for those who had come to resent their chains.   
  
I leafed angrily through the pages. Salvation, eh? But at what cost... Ah well, even good-natured gods liked to play, especially if something they wanted was at stake. And if faced with the decision, I didn't doubt that they would choose their own comfort over that of any elf.   
  
Well, not with this one. If they wanted to leave, they could damn well build a spaceship or something.   
  
My finger brushed the paper surface, searching... ah, there it was. In small print, and so insignificant that it was very easy to overlook. I shut my eyes for a moment, thinking...   
  
And suddenly, effortlessly, everything slipped into place. 

  
  
  
  



	16. The Mirkwood Conspiracy

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me, but this story does.   
  
  
_Miscellaneous notes:_   
  
**Glasses:** No, they're not _that_ close yet. :)   
  
** Nuinregwen:** The war of the ring is indeed over -- this happens during Legolas and Gimli's wanderings.   
  
**Zephyr:** I hope this answers your question. :)   
  
**Mercuria:** I'm really happy someone understood this at all... the plot is so muddled I wasn't sure anyone would understand what it's all about.   
  
**Frances:** Happy you liked it. :)   
  
**Una:** Pressure? What pressure? *looks down at poor maltreated fingers*   
  
**Ella:** Thanks. Sadly, I write a lot slower than I read... ;)   
  
**Starbrat:** I'm typing as fast as I can...   
  
**Serendu:** I had a *very* nice holiday! I went riding for the first time in my life -- *twice*. It was very cool. I got a tan, too. :)   
  
**little-bit-odd:** Thank you, thank you... *bows* I'm trying... :)   
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Fifteen: The Mirkwood Conspiracy ~**   
  
  
  


I spent the night alternately reading and taking care of the elf, who had slipped into a fever. Since I took turns with Gimli, wo refused to let me alone, I used the time to prepare him for what I was about to do, and secure his support. I didn't tell him what I was planning -- after all, I didn't know who else was listening. But I made sure he wouldn't stop me, and, even more important, that he would keep the elf from trying.   
  
As the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, I finally felt ready. Legolas was a little better, and above all lucid. He was weakened though, and there were deep shadows under his eyes. Ah well, it was now or never. I stood up, stretching as unconspicuously as possible, and put as much distance as I could between me and the elf.   
  
Then I turned away. "I've made up my mind!" I shouted. "One soul coming up..."   
  
And indeed, the accountant from hell was suddenly standing in front of me, contract at the ready. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gimli, who was fighting to restrain Legolas and thankfully winning.   
  
"Having problems?" the demon inquired.   
  
"He's a bit dizzy," I said. "Had a few nightmares lately. However, I'm sure he'll realize his good luck soon." I held out my hand. "Have a pen?"   
  
"Anna, **_no_**!"   
  
The pen materialized in the palm of my outstretched hand. "Thank you," I said, picking up my bag from where I had strategically deposited it during the night. "I'd rather use my copy though, if you don't mind."   
  
"Not at all," said the demon, obviously miffed that I was assuming he would try that sort of cheap trick. I pulled out my battered copy of the contract, signing it with a flourish.   
  
The elf's bellow of rage could probably be heard miles away. The horses reared up, whinnying. _Dammit, elf, give me only a few more moments ..._   
  
"So the contract is valid now?" I inquired innocently, as the demon used the pen to place his rather more subdued signature next to mine.   
  
He pocketed the pen. "From this very moment on," he said ceremoniously.   
  
"How very nice. I have a question, though -- what _is_ your name? I feel slightly uncomfortable not knowing, what with you getting my soul and all." There was a choked sound from somewhere behind me, and a thud. Oopsies. The elf had succeeded in freeing himself, and was coming closer.   
  
"Pentagninny," said the demon ceremoniously.   
  
"Pentagninny?" I repeated. "Your name is _Pentagninny_?"   
  
"Indeed," he replied crossly. "May I start with the soul extraction now? I do not have all day."   
  
"Just a moment," I said sweetly. "You see, I think I was the first one to actually _read_ that thing I just signed. Very thoroughly. Especially paragraphs -- well, I can't pronounce the numbers, but they're somewhere in the middle. You know, the parts about exerting undue influence over a potential client? Which voids the whole deal, and in turn also ensures my right to a substantial compensation _of my choice_. Remember the palantir? I thought about that a lot, you know." I frowned at him. "You deliberately put me in danger only because you didn't want me to be parted from Legolas. I think you didn't even notice you'd made things worse instead of better, did you? And then you sent me home as soon as you realized I'd die if I was allowed to reach the battle. Before I could sell my soul, too. Not to mention that your sending me back is another breach of contract, since you didn't bring me to Middle-earth in the first place -- isn't that right?"   
  
Pentagninny went livid. I breathed inwardly.   
  
"And the good thing about all this is that I don't have to prove it. Not if it's true. The claim is enough to alarm the Agency, isn't that so? I bet they're looking on right now. And--"   
  
The demon swallowed. "What do you want?" he said hoarsely.   
  
"I want you to stop whatever it is you're doing to Legolas. And give him back his memories," I said, coldly.   
  
He seemed to recover a little. "I cannot," he said haughtily. "There is a previous contract which forbids me from doing so."   
  
I had feared he would say that. I narrowed my eyes. "If you are talking about his father... Thranduil is not stupid. He wouldn't be king if he were. No, I don't imagine he paid with the future happiness of his only son. I rather think he paid with gems and gold and maybe little magical trinkets, because he has no idea how demonic deals are supposed to work. Isn't that right?"   
  
Pentagninny said nothing, but he looked distinctly worried. I inhaled just as cool fingers touched the back of my neck under the heavy braid. Legolas. I leaned a little into the comforting weight of his large archer's hand, and tried not to get sidetracked.   
  
"And you used that son, didn't you?" I continued. "Although the deal was done, and the payment exacted. You've been using him for three thousand years, overbooking every time pocket you can find, torturing him with simpering ninnies who give you their souls ... And I even suppose there's no rule against it. No actual _rule_. But I'm sure there are a lot of unwritten guidelines, and I'm also sure that you are only suffered here."   
  
The elf's hand slipped from my neck to my waist in a slow caress. I tried to remember what I was saying. "Oh, not by the Valar," I muttered as it came back to me. "They aren't nearly powerful enough, and I don't want to know how many are in on your little game. There is someone else ..." Pentagninny blanched visibly. "You see, it's probably okay if you make your little pitch, try to sell a few contracts and stuff -- if people are stupid enough, why not? But now you, an _outsider_, have started using elves, playing with their fates, behaving like a _god_ ... I don't suppose he likes that. And I very much suspect the Agency won't like it either, because you have been _dumb_, and have allowed yourself to get caught ..."   
  
"You cannot prove anything," he said, in my opinion with much more conviction than the situation warranted.   
  
"Ah, but I don't have to," I said confidently. "That's the beauty of it. I don't have to."   
  
Pentagninny still didn't look convinced, and my confidence wavered a little. He should have been kissing my feet by now ...   
  
"His father wished for greatness," he said slowly, almost triumphantly. "Whatever I did, it did not contradict that arrangement, since his son has _become_ great. And, madam, I am sorry to say that if the first demand you make cannot be satisfied, for whatever reason, you have automatically forfeited your claim to a compensation. This is in here as well," he said, tapping the contract he still held. He allowed himself a tiny, sour smile.   
  
Damn. I hadn't noticed _that_ clause. I strongly suspected it was as well hidden as the other one, and as soon as I'd found that one, I hadn't bothered to look _too_ closely at the rest. Or maybe I had seen it, and just hadn't thought it dangerous, because I thought one chance would be enough? Whatever, it had been very, very dumb.   
  
Through it all, Legolas hadn't moved. The broad wall of his body behind me calmed me a little. I wasn't about to give up. There was still a little time to think. Besides, I couldn't let myself be beaten -- too much was at stake. Also, the adversary was a demon with the most ridiculous name I had ever heard. What was it he'd said? _His father wished for greatness ..._   
  
Something occured to me. I smiled. I imagine it was a rather unpleasant sight.   
  
"But you did break _another_ contract, didn't you?" I said, equally slowly. "You see, his mother wished for _happiness_." 


	17. At Last?

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me, but this story does.   
  
  
_Miscellaneous notes:_ THIS CHAPTER GETS A RATING OF **R** for the hopefully tasteful depiction of things people do everywhere on this Earth in order to ensure the survival of the species. YOU **HAVE** BEEN WARNED! Right.   
  
On another, more cheerful, note (for me, anyway): my nastiness knows no bounds.  
  
And huge thanks again to all reviewers! (Zephyr, how _do_ you manage to come up with those inventive reviews? Everytime I read one of yours, I'm utterly amazed.)   
  
**Serendu:** _Don't_ tempt me ... ;)   
  
**Meg:** I'm happy you like the story, although you're wrong about the spelling (I do make typing mistakes, and I don't use a spellchecker -- shame on me).   
  
I've read the books, but it's the movie that's had an incredible emotional impact on me, because the characters are so human and lovable. I've always thought they were a little sketchy in the books (apart from Gandalf, Frodo and Sam).   
  
I could go on like this, but then I'd never get to actually posting this chapter... so here again my thanks to everyone who reads and/or reviews this story. Hope you like it, despite my being _so_ mean to the characters. *snickers evilly*   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Sixteen: At Last? ~**   
  
  
  


"But--" said Pentagninny, horrified.   
  
"Legolas isn't happy," I said calmly. "And you are the reason for that, which, I'm quite sure, _is_ a very serious breach of the contract you made with his mother. So we can wait until we reach Mirkwood and have _her_ deal with you, or you can do what I asked. Right _now_."   
  
There was a sound, more felt than heard. As if the universe were being sucked in and turned inside out, like a sticky glove. It was followed by what I can only describe as a ripple of awareness -- a sharpening of senses ...   
  
The Agency had spoken.   
  
"Son of a bitch," said the elf, with feeling.   
  
I whirled around, slightly worried. "Oi, Legolilly! What's with the modern speak again?" I winced at my own tactlessness, but the relief had made me lightheaded.   
  
Legolas' eyes went dark. "I _remember_," he said ominously. Then in a flash he was standing in front of Pentagninny, knives at the demon's throat. "It would be too much too hope that you've lost _all_ your powers, would it?"   
  
I laid a hand on his arm. "He's probably going to be demoted. For a snob like him, that's infinitely worse."   
  
"Demoted for what," Legolas spat. "For breaking contract? For putting me through centuries of torture? For being _bad_?"   
  
"Nope. For allowing himself to get caught, I think."   
  
"Wha--" said Pentagninny, who didn't seem to be adjusting very well to the current turn of events. I looked dispassionately at him.   
  
"You're weakened," I stated matter-of-factly. "You know, elf-boy here senses that kind of stuff. He's very magic-sensitive, he is, your average elf. And he hasn't rested well in -- what? Weeks? Months? Bound to make him very twitchy, that is."   
  
"But what you have asked is beyond--" He gulped. Very carefully. The white blades were dangerously close to cracking the skin.   
  
"Ah, is it." I smiled humourlessly. "You sure thought I was going to ask you to make me an elf, or some such rubbish, no? I'll admit it would be nice, and it's awfully tempting, but I want something else. I _really_ want you to leave Legolas alone. No more dimension-hopping for him. No more being used as bait. It's time for you to blow this popstand and leave. And you know what? I think your employers agree with me."   
  
There was a long silence. Then the demon gestured gingerly towards a very sharp blade. "All right, I agree. Now may I--"   
  
"Oh no," murmured Legolas, eyes flashing. "You still owe _me_ something. I want immortality for her -- as an elf, if she agrees. And you will leave her soul as it is." He turned to me, raising an expectant eyebrow.   
  
And that was it. No declaration of love on bended knee with violins in the background. No romantic kiss in the red light of the rising sun.   
  
Only a blushing sky, the rustle of leaves in a cool breeze and an expectant silence so hollow that it _screamed_ to be filled up. The words had been casual, but Legolas' eyes held the intensity he usually reserved for battle -- and the wariness of the moment before, that slight edge of uncertainty when the odds are still unclear, and the future is a vague and dangerous blur.   
  
He was watching me. And right there and then I understood that it had ceased to be about his being beautiful long ago -- as it had ceased to be about my hair. The air was so charged it was almost vibrating. But whatever we had, it wasn't romantic. And it had taken on a life of its own. Even so, he was being awfully sweet. And it was probably out of a misguided sense of obligation, so it was up to me to be sensible. I raised a trembling hand to his face.   
  
"You're saying that because I saved you from eons of torment at the hands of Mary Sues," I said with forced lightness. "I'm one of them myself, you know."   
  
There the eyebrow was again. "Really? Would you ensnare me to your will then, if you could, and make me do your bidding?"   
  
I thought hard. "Umm-- no?"   
  
The eyebrow inched a little higher. "Try again."   
  
"Look, elf-- ah, all right... Maybe for a little while," I admitted, looking him demonstratively over. "It would take a better girl than I am to resist all that." He grinned. "But I would tire of it rather soon. Wouldn't be the real thing, you know."   
  
"So you're _not_ one of them, in the end."   
  
"Oh, but think I am. I just know that life goes on after the story ends. And that a happily ever after usually has a decay period of about three months." I avoided looking at him. "I really should leave. I did what I came here to do, and I'm pretty sure there'll be a portal pretty soon ..." I sighed. "Look, you've been through a lot, and you obviously haven't thought this through. I'm quite certain you don't want me here forever."   
  
His grin shifted, changing into a slow, enigmatic smile. "You don't know much about elves, do you?"   
  
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "What does that have to do with anything? You know very well--"   
  
He sent the demon an icy glance out of slitted eyes. "Do not even _think_ of moving," he said evenly. "I am faster than you could ever hope to be." Then he slid his knives into their sheaths, turned, and --   
  
... kissed me. Maybe devouring would have been a better word -- his tongue speared into my mouth at the same time his right hand cupped my backside, his left tangling in my hair, holding me prisoner against his mouth. I tried to breathe.   
  
I couldn't.   
  
I tried to think.   
  
I couldn't.   
  
I stopped trying anything and simply let him rob me of my senses. He tasted of honey and apples, and he smelled even better. And he really, really wasn't wasting any time. His hand moved against the nape of my neck, and when he had dazed me enough that I couldn't even stand properly, he tore his mouth away and bit my throat.   
  
My knees buckled. I would have landed in an undignified heap at his feet if he hadn't held me up.   
  
By the butt.   
  
"That--" I swallowed. "That's unfair," I said when I could speak again.   
  
"I'm a desperate elf," Legolas retorted, kissing me again for good measure. "Don't go. Please."   
  
I guess I was still looking doubtful, so he turned and called, "I need a little bit of help here, friend Gimli! The wench is being stubborn!"   
  
The dwarf chuckled. "When last I helped you, you knocked me to the ground. You will have to solve this alone, my friend."   
  
"It would be good," said Legolas, turning back to me. "It would be beautiful."   
  
The enormity of what he was asking hit me then. He wanted me to become immortal, when I had no idea what that meant. And he was threatening a very dangerous magical being in order to achieve it.   
  
"It scares me," I said very quietly. And it did. It scared me out of my wits. But so did his expression -- it was as if an abyss was suddenly gaping open behind his eyes, threatening to swallow him from the inside.   
  
"It wouldn't be like that," he said. "It isn't scary. There is so much beauty, and the time does not run away from you -- it's a companion, not an enemy." _It can be a cage. But only if you allow it._ He shook his head. "I wish I could explain, but I can't. It's your choice."   
  
I said nothing. I was scared of what he asked, and it scared me even more that I seemed to want it so badly. Mainly because it was a way of being with him. And for some unfathomable reason, he seemed to want me around as well.   
  
I was achingly aware of him standing so close we almost touched, waiting for a decision I didn't know how to make because I was numb with fear. Legolas seemed to realize that. He swore softly and took my hand, dropping it again almost immediately and clenching both of his into fists.   
  
"Anna," he began haltingly, then stopped, searching for words. "I have never begged anyone for anything, but with you, I would," he murmured finally. "Stay. _Please_." He cupped my cheek, eyes darkening with a violent mixture of conflicting emotions -- pride, need, bitterness, hope ... "Don't make me beg."   
  
Still no declaration of love. No promises, no eternal vows, no securities ... only a very volatile cocktail of emotions that tugged at my heart on a very primal level.   
  
Maybe the risk mentioned in that vision didn't have anything to do with the contract. Maybe it had to do with this. And I _would_ be risking a lot if I said yes. But underneath the fear and need and insecurity was the very solid knowledge that I would not make him beg.   
  
I covered his hand with mine, meeting his eyes resolutely. "We would have to visit my parents. Often," I said. "And I miss my cats. Anyway, I'm sure we can get a portal from time to time." And I was. It was one of the things I simply knew.   
  
His sudden smile was such a sunny, sensuous curve ... "I take it this is a yes," he whispered.   
  
I swallowed. "Yes. Yes, it is."   
  
He kissed me again, hard and fast. Then the knives were out again in a flash, back at Pentagninny's throat.   
  
"I think you've had enough time to think about my request," said Legolas silkily. "Well?"   
  
Pentagninny whimpered, and I looked down to see a firefly swarm rising up around me in a spiralling dance.   
  
"This will take some time," said the demon morosely. The elf laughed.   
  
  
  
  
  
Night had fallen as Pentagninny was finally finished with whatever he was doing to me. Trembling, and doing even that cautiously, he held the first mirror I had seen in Middle-earth that wasn't made of water in front of my face.   
  
Legolas stared. As I saw my reflection, I finally understood why. I had white-blond hair, an even lighter shade than his, smooth and shining like sequins. My eyes were still dark in a face the color of mocha latte, the skin so smooth and downy I touched it briefly to reassure myself that it wasn't a dream. I was still me, only somehow less so, and much too beautiful. I looked at the reflection with regret.   
  
"No," I said. "I don't think so. It's just not... _me_, you know."   
  
Legolas had approached silently from behind and put a hand on my shoulder. "It makes for a striking first impression," he said. He had managed to pick up his jaw off the floor by then. "But we are long past the first impression." He brushed a shimmering strand of hair behind my very pointy ear. "If you want to keep this, it will not matter to me. But I'd rather you remained as you were when I saw you at Helm's Deep."   
  
I shivered as he brushed his mouth against my forehead. "Dirty and tongue-tied?" I managed.   
  
Legolas smiled. "Cute and annoying."   
  
"So you prefer cute to jaw-droppingly beautiful?"   
  
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," he murmured, kissing my neck. I wished he'd stop distracting me like that. "And _this_ beholder likes the old you much better."   
  
I sighed at my perfect mirror image. "So be it," I whispered, somewhat dramatically.   
  
And there it was again, my old self -- slightly improved, and, indeed, cute. Also pointy-eared. The hair, I noticed, was gathered in a thick braid at the nape of my neck. I met Legolas' gaze in the mirror. The elf looked delighted, damn him. And hot.   
  
"Can I go now?" came the plaintive voice of Pentagninny from somewhere in the background.   
  
"Not before you've given me that pendant," I said. "You know which one."   
  
The demon pulled out the pendant out of his seemingly bottomless suitcase. I took it and placed it carefully in my pocket.   
  
"So, can I go now?"   
  
I was too busy looking at Legolas to answer, so the elf was kind enough to do it for me.   
  
"You can," he said in his most nastily reasonable tone. "And only _think_ of double-crossing us and I will find ways of paying you back."   
  
Pentagninny disappeared before he could answer. He had enough time to scream, though, as he was swallowed by a pink, flashing vortex.   
  
"Oops," I said, feeling a little drunk. "Poor guy is taking a slight detour on his way home, then." The elf smiled fondly at me.   
  
"Now, where were we ..." he said in a low voice, starting to take apart my braid.  
  
"It is quite chilly, is it not?" bellowed Gimli suddenly, startling me because I had completely forgotten he'd been there all the time, watching everything with interest. Legolas, who hadn't forgotten, didn't even twitch. "I will go search for more firewood. I expect I shall be gone for a while," the dwarf added for the extremely slow. "But I do not think you will suffer cold," he added, causing me to blush.   
  
"I owe you, my friend," said Legolas, utterly unperturbed.   
  
The dwarf waved, laughing loudly as he went off as noisily as he could manage.   
  
Legolas finished unravelling my hair and combed it out with his fingers, using the opportunity to pull me closer. Then he started placing slow little kisses all over my face -- cheekbone, nose, jaw, the curve of one eyebrow, the corner of my mouth ... I surprised myself by moaning as the sensations shot like fire through my body. I had been sensitive as a human, but _this_ was ... I had no words to describe it.   
  
For a moment I contemplated whiling away the next millennium in a lust-induced stupor. But no, I couldn't spend the next few centuries as putty in the elf's strong hands. Besides, wasn't it written 'start as you mean to go on'?   
  
His head was closing in for another kiss. Oh, but that elf mouth was so tempting ...   
  
I pulled myself together.   
  
"Nonononono," I mumbled against his lips, obviously in the grip of temporary madness. "Youavetooomefst."   
  
He pulled away a little, allowing my head to clear. Barely.   
  
"You have to woo me first," I repeated, this time intelligibly. I might have been many things, but I was not easy. Not even where the elf was concerned. _Yeah, keep on telling yourself that, girl, maybe you'll even get yourself to believe it._   
  
Legolas was looking at me as if I had taken leave of my senses -- and why not? I had.   
  
"Woo," he repeated.   
  
"Yep," I said, determined to see this one through to the end. "Woo. Like in, you tell me how beautiful and intelligent I am so you can get me into bed? Because once I've been there, you won't have any reason to lie like that anymore, and I shall never hear my eyes compared to stars and stuff like that. Know what I'm talking about?"   
  
He gave me The Eyebrow. "Frankly, no."   
  
I frowned at him. I could see from his expression that the whole wooing thing was a new concept for him. Just what sort of women had he-- Ah, yes. I had forgotten.   
  
"Oh, and you're supposed to bring me flowers," I added, rubbing it in.   
  
"Flowers."   
  
"Yep."   
  
He brushed a strand of perfect hair away from my face. "You _are_ mad, you know."   
  
"Yep. Mad like anything. And you can skip the flowers -- I have nothing to put them in anyway." I smiled up at him. "Tell me about my eyes."   
  
He looked impassively down at me, but the corners of his mouth were twitching ever so slightly. He was fighting hard to suppress a grin. "They're beautiful," he said. I beamed up at him.   
  
"Thank you," I said, liking the new lilt in my voice. "But it doesn't work like that. It has to be a tad more... imaginative."   
  
His eyes narrowed with slight exasperation. "Imaginative."   
  
"Indeed. You could start by not parroting everything I say."   
  
"All right, all right..." He looked intently into my eyes. I tried not to melt as his gaze softened, mellowed. "Your eyes are so dark--" he began, almost dreamily.   
  
"I knew that already."   
  
"Stop interrupting! -- Dark like the soil in spring--"   
  
"You compare my eyes to _mud_?"   
  
"Not mud! The fertile earth, black and deep--"   
  
"Mud. And don't start cracking fertility jokes, we're not at that stage yet."   
  
"Shut up. So if earth is not to your liking, maybe a doe? Actually your eyes are so large and innocent, they could very well--"   
  
"Deer are stupid animals."   
  
"_Will_ you stop interrupting! I cannot think when you keep interrupting like that." Legolas rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. I must admit I was enjoying myself a lot.   
  
"Try stars," I offered innocently.   
  
"I am supposed to be imaginative, remember? Besides your eyes are just too dark to be stars. Night sky, maybe. Not stars."   
  
"But I _like_ stars."   
  
"How about you write down what you want to hear, I read it aloud, and we can finally get to the _interesting_ part?" he demanded testily.   
  
I smiled softly up at him. "You're no fun, elf." I made a mental note to stop calling him that. I was one myself now. "And you've got a one-track-mind, do you know that?"   
  
He returned the smile with a teasing one of his own, annoyance forgotten. "I've noticed. And I apologize for the impatience, but I want you." He smoothed another recalcitrant strand of hair behind one of my ears and kissed my nose. "Right _now_."   
  
His other hand was doing interesting things to my top, presumably so it could start doing even more interesting things to the skin beneath. It seemed to go too slowly for him, too, because suddenly there was a knife in his hand and he was methodically slicing the material open.   
  
"Ah, the forceful approach," I said, but it was on a gasp, and I squirmed against him. He nibbled at my ear, then ran his open mouth down the side of my throat and along the slope of my collarbone to a naked shoulder.   
  
I was dimly aware that he picked me up and deposited me on something soft and downy -- probably his cloak. It was incredible how fast he managed to undress himself, and me. After that it was frighteningly easy to get lost in the slide of skin against skin, the moist touches of his mouth and tongue, everywhere ... the increasingly fevered writhing of body against body.   
  
The need was consuming me. Him too, judging by the words he bit out and the way he was holding me, moving against me. I moaned his name on a plea to do something, anything. Anything more fulfilling than the maddeningly pleasurable things he was driving me crazy with. I didn't expect him to stop so suddenly, to hold so still, as if something was wrong.   
  
It took me a few moments to cut through the haze of lust, the burning of his hands of my body, but then I felt it. I looked down.   
  
"Oh," I said.   
  
His forehead dropped against mine. His hand slammed into the ground at my side in frustration.   
  
"Damn," he said. "I never--"   
  
I brushed the tangle of braids and hair away from his face.   
  
"I know," I murmured. "It's alright, really."   
  
He looked up, something like shame in his eyes. "Just don't believe I don't want you. I do," he insisted hoarsely. "But it's the first time in centuries I'm doing this willingly, there's no compulsion, and I don't know how to deal with it ..."   
  
I touched a finger to his lips, hushing him.   
  
"Hey, it's okay. We'll take it slow." 


	18. You Can Leave Your Hat On

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me, but this story does. And I'm not making any money with this, in case anyone was wondering.   
  
  
_Miscellaneous notes:_ Will he, or will he not? Now, some people might think of this chapter as completely and utterly pointless, and I admit that writing it was something of a guilty pleasure, but I won't apologize. :) I hope you like it anyway.   
  
Oh, and _THIS CHAPTER IS RATED **R**!_ Just so ya know.   
  
My thanks go out to the _Grey Company_ (http://www.grey-company.org/Circle/) for their very helpful Elvish dictionary. And of course to everyone who took the time to write a review!   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Seventeen: You Can Leave Your Hat On ~**   
  
  
  


The elf was frowning. I pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. "Legolas."   
  
He didn't answer. His fists were clenched at my sides; his body was a rigid weight above me. Since I couldn't do anything while I was trapped like that I kissed him again, a mere brush of my mouth against his, and shimmied out from beneath him.   
  
In the blink of an eye he had pushed himself to his feet and turned away.   
  
"I lied," he said tightly. "It won't be easy. Right now it's not even good." Then he pulled on his breeches and started to walk away. He wasn't _supposed_ to run, dammit. Not because of that, at any rate. I went after him, which didn't require a lot of effort since he had already come to a halt a few feet away.   
  
Now, what was I supposed to say when he talked like that?   
  
"I didn't expect it to be easy," I said therefore as calmly as I could manage and had to clench my fists to keep myself from touching him. Okay, so he had confused me with the scores of nymphomaniac Mary-Sues that had preceded me in a moment of passion. No problem. I wasn't hurt or anything. It did not do wonders for my self-confidence either, but I wasn't sulking.   
  
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.   
  
Ah, to hell with no touching. I slipped my arms about his waist from behind, nuzzling my face into the sensitive indentation between his shoulder blades. To my relief I felt tense muscles uncoil a little; his hands came up to cover mine.   
  
"Elves are ... different," he murmured after a while, as if the silence distressed him. "It won't take long."   
  
"There's no rush," I mumbled, very obviously lying because his proximity was driving me a little crazy. "And you needn't justify yourself. Not with me. Never with me." I kissed his shoulderblade, burrowing a little deeper. He sighed then, and it seemed to me that he relaxed a little more.   
  
I waited, but he said nothing else. So we stood like that for a while as the silence grew longer, and more peaceful. With the tension flowing out of the moment, awareness started to seep in -- first the soft brush of cool air against my back, then the frosty glitter of stars in an inky sky; the velvet touch of the elf's skin where my breasts were flattened against his back, the roughness of his breeches against my belly ... the dual caress of his hair and skin against my face.   
  
Inhaling deeply, I flexed my fingers experimentally against his abdomen -- his hands didn't move away from mine, but his touch gentled a little, allowing small, tentative caresses.   
  
After a while, his hands started to move as well. At first his fingers fluttered lightly over the backs of my hands, then down to encircle my wrists. I shivered and let my hands wander upwards, the touch firmer now, until my right came to rest at the base of his throat, fingers splayed possessively.   
  
His head fell back on a moan, burying my shoulders under the soft fall of his hair. Unexpected heat surged in me at the sound, spreading out like wildfire. Ignoring knees that threatened to give in under the sudden onset of animal need, I pushed myself up on my toes for a delicate bite at the nape of his neck. Another moan followed, this time with an edge of growl to it; his long fingers tightened around my wrists.   
  
Closing my eyes against the things the sight of him did to my insides, I licked a slow path down his spine, stopping from time to time to nibble at the strong length of muscle framing it. Then I came up again on a trail of long, moist kisses. Pulling my hands from his grasp, I slipped them out from about him and up to his shoulders to knead at the corded muscles there.   
  
He let his head fall forward and I stroked his hair, taking my time to undo the complicated braid at the back of his head; then I twisted him around so he was facing me. I avoided looking at the temptation that was his face as I also undid the two small braids behind his ears, then combed them out with trembling fingers until his hair slid freely forward, a heavy waterfall of pale silk.   
  
I tried to ignore the hammering pulse of blood in my temples, the fact that I felt faint with need as I folded my arms very carefully behind his neck.   
  
"I want you," I said, stating the obvious and wishing my voice would sound less breathy. "But this isn't about me. It isn't about my satisfaction. It's about yours, and I--"   
  
He kissed me. Very thoroughly. And while I was drowning in the taste of him his arms came up to wrap me close in a very tight embrace -- so tight I couldn't help but notice a few things. When he lifted his head, his eyes were glittering like mischievous aquamarines; his faint smile on the other hand was pure sin.   
  
"You," he whispered, "are very sweet. And very wrong. Besides, satisfaction is such a ... _weak_ word."   
  
And because Legolas was an elf of very few words -- and quick recovery abilities --, he proceeded to _show_ me exactly what he meant. Against a tree, because I already was conveniently nude and he wasn't as controlled as he looked, while I writhed and clutched at him, and occasionally bit him. I think I screamed once or twice, although the memory lies in my head like a core of hot lava -- much too hot to observe very closely.   
  
I'm sure I talked, too, although it was more in gasps and whimpers and mostly nonsense anyway. The rest of it was along the lines of 'move _faster_, damn you', and a similar series of jumbled pleas and threats.   
  
Legolas talked as well, although more with his eyes than with his mouth, because his mouth was busy most of the time. Still, just before the final build-up of pleasure he tilted my head up so he could look into my eyes -- then his own eyes went opaque and he bit my lower lip, breathing something low and desperate against my mouth, as if there had been a battle, which he had lost, and now he was surrendering ... Two words I wouldn't have understood without enhanced hearing.   
  
_My obsession._   
  
And hovering on the ground zero of a cataclysmic release I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears from flowing, because Legolas had managed to put into words all that I felt for _him_, so far removed from simple affection or even love it was both scary and miraculous. Obsession.   
  
There were a few tears in the end, but he licked them away and kissed me, very carefully, a slightly bitter touch of salt underlaying the sweetness of his tongue.   
  
  
  
  
  
"Legolas," I sighed when I could speak again, which was a very long while later.   
  
"Yes?" he murmured distractedly. He was busy alternately nuzzling my face and playing with my hair; I was already sporting two exquisitely plaited braids behind my ears.   
  
"I'm afraid this relationship of ours isn't exactly healthy," I said, only half-jokingly.   
  
"I never had a healthier one," he answered. "Plenty of _really_ dysfunctional ones, though. Although I wouldn't call them relationships. Slavery in general does tend to be dysfunctional now that I come to think about it."   
  
The way he put it, it sounded rather logical. Okay, so kissing him almost killed me, not to mention the other stuff. That was no reason to get worried, was it?   
  
"You seem distracted," he said, turning me around so he could start on another braid.   
  
I leaned back against his chest. "I'm trying to get used to a very ... Shakespearean elf talking perfectly modern English," I muttered. "It's rather hard. I mean, you have pointy ears. Long hair. You _glow_."   
  
"Must be the light here," he said. "And you'd be surprised what one picks up on the radio. Or in bars. Or simply on the street."   
  
He said it without venom, as if he was talking about something that happened a very long time ago and was now already half forgotten. It amazed me that he could talk so calmly about what must have been a horrible experience.   
  
"How did you manage to remain sane?" I imagined how it would have been, hundreds of years of men using me as a projection screen for their fantasies, and me not even able to _say_ anything. "I wouldn't have."   
  
Legolas seemed to ponder the question for a long time. "Elves -- we -- can endure much," he said at last. "That comes with immortality. But I think it was the music. Most of it was atrocious, but the rest..." He looked up, his expression unguarded for once. His eyes were bright with the memory. "The rest was magic. Not like elvish music at all, which is night music. This was music of the sun. Oh, some of it was dark -- sometimes quite disturbing. But it helped with the rage. And I had a lot of rage bottled up inside."   
  
He really believed that. Maybe it was even true. Elves were so susceptible to music, although I could not see how it would have helped _me_ cope with so many years of mind rape. Then again... who knew?   
  
"And later on ... it was you," he purred. Sultrily.   
  
"Don't get sappy on me," I said, although my toes were curling. "And stop lying. If you wanna get laid just say so, okay? The courtship is approved and over."   
  
He kissed my nose. "Such a romantic," he whispered. "But you really were -- are -- different. Refreshingly inept, for one. I _loved_ that. As a matter of fact, I still do."   
  
Half-turning, I whacked him upside the head. "Watch it, elf."   
  
He caught my hand, tucking it against his chest. "Besides," he continued as if nothing had happened, "there was no charm on you, so I could indulge in a little bit of old-fashioned cruelty now and then. Have a bit of revenge. All subconsciously, of course," he added when he saw me glare.   
  
"Thank _you_. This is almost better than the declaration of love I haven't heard yet. You sure you have a heart somewhere? I'm taking on immortality on trusting you."   
  
He smiled mischievously. "I will only say this -- every time I found myself together with a woman I only wanted to escape again. With you, I chose to stay of my own free will. And I _do_ want your body, too."   
  
"Thanks for the compliment, but I'm keeping it for no--ahh..."   
  
His hand was somewhere where it really shouldn't have been. Not when I was trying to conduct a serious conversation. "Legolas!"   
  
The elf ignored me. He obviously wasn't interested in serious conversation right now. "Amin merna lle," he mouthed huskily, sliding one steel-hard arm around my waist. _I want you._ Ohgodohgodohgod. I hadn't yet recovered from the last time. I hadn't been prepared for enhanced senses. I certainly wasn't prepared to deal with it again so shortly after -- there _was_ something like too much pleasure. _Distract him, damn it._   
  
"You never said anything in Elvish to me before," I panted against his neck, wondering where I got the concentration from. "I was starting to wonder if you're a genuine elf or just a pointy-eared fraud."   
  
"Dina edainme." He chuckled. "I was speaking Elvish all the time. Whenever I got called away, I would have to say the most inane phrases. The grammar was utterly atrocious, too."   
  
"_Is_ that right."   
  
"It damn well is." He bit my earlobe. "Remind me never to call you melamin, or I will be overcome with an urge to strangle you with your own hair come morning."   
  
He was just too tempting -- especially those dimples. I could feel myself softening against him, the hot rush of blood to all the pertinent areas ... Ah, to hell with too much pleasure. If I died of it, at least I would die happy. I licked his throat and then proceeded to nibble my way up his jaw. "Really."   
  
"Really."   
  
"What are you going to call me then," I asked between nibbles. "And better make it something cute, or I'll think you're in this just for the sex."   
  
"Nier? Pointy-eared pain in the neck? Lisse'laito? Lowly ex-human? The possibilities are endless."   
  
"Honeybee? Little _baby_? Pointy-eared-- I won't even mention the rest." I snorted. "If your choice of endearments reflects your feelings, I shall be exceedingly happy if I don't wake up in the morning and find you gone like that other red-haired twit."   
  
I suddenly found myself on my back, Legolas on top of me. From foot to chest, too, and his face wasn't that far away from mine either. His hair slid forward over his broad shoulders, spilling like liquid silk across my collarbone and brushing the sides of my face. It occured to me that I had never seen something so beautiful as his face in the moonlight, shadowed by the pale curtain of his hair.   
  
"I almost _begged_ you not to go," he murmured against my cheek, lips trailing slowly across the skin. "Obviously it wasn't enough. You still need to hear it, don't you?"   
  
His knee was slowly, ever so slowly, sliding between my legs. I pressed against him, hands clenching reflexively against the coiling muscles of his back. "Yes."   
  
His head descended for an open-mouthed kiss that was almost bruising. And incredibly arousing. "Amin mela lle." _I love you._ "Amin _enta_ lle." _I **need** you_.   
  
I would have answered, but there was no way I could string a coherent sentence together now. Not with his mouth slanting so aggressively over mine, his tongue pushing inside so ferociously. And then something else pushed all the way inside in one swift, predatory glide ...   
  
And stopped.   
  
I waited, breathing hard. Nothing happened. I was trapped between the soft ground and the hard, heavy weight of the elf's body, his eyes strangely luminous in the shadows. His breathing was a bit faster than usual, too, and I could hear the fast, drumming beat of his heart, but he remained motionless.   
  
I was going out of my mind. As I couldn't take the enforced passivity anymore, I tried to move, or at least get _him_ to do something. I could have as well tried to move a mountain for all the good it did. I swore and kissed him -- he kissed me back, and he wasn't gentle either, but he didn't move.   
  
I took hold of his shoulders, moaning with the mounting desperation, and still he wouldn't budge. Only his head descended once again until his lips were almost touching mine.   
  
"Say it," he demanded.   
  
For a moment I was confused, but I understood soon enough. "That's blackmail," I panted, shaking.   
  
My hands were roaming his back -- he tore them away, imprisoning them over my head in one seamless move. "Could be," he growled. "Now _say_ it."   
  
"Love you," I muttered mutinously.   
  
He stretched, eyes bright with triumph. And then he moved, and didn't stop, and I could finally move with him in a fluid, maddening, almost savage rhythm.   
  
The world exploded.   
  
His head dropped into the crook of my neck. He was really breathing hard now, almost panting. "Damn," he growled. "You're so ... _needy_."   
  
I shifted languidly against him. I didn't have the energy for anything else. "And that's a bad thing?"   
  
I _was_ panting.   
  
"Hell, no. It drives me crazy, though."   
  
I nodded feebly. "Ah. Good thing, then."   
  
Legolas nuzzled his face against the sensitive curve where neck and shoulder met. I shivered and arched involuntarily against him. Tensing, he met my upward movement with a sinuous one of his own.   
  
"Ah. You're doing it again," he said. It was something between a groan and a purr.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Driving me insane."   
  
Our hands were still entwined. Slowly, he raised the right to his lips and drew my index finger into his mouth, watching my reaction through narrowed eyes. I stared into glittering slits of ice-blue and heard myself whimpering softly.   
  
"Let's do it again," he mouthed around my wet finger. My eyes widened.   
  
"What, _now_?"   
  
He stroked once, a long, sure glide, and white lights burst into being in front of my eyes. God, I'd forgotten he was still--   
  
"No, next week," he said calmly, and then his head swooped down for a long, deep, take-no-prisoners kiss.   
  
It didn't take long at all for the world to explode again. 


	19. Author's Note Thingy

**Short Author's Note Thingy**

  
  
1. Yes, there's more: two more chapters to be exact, including the epilogue. I'm sorry about the delay in posting, but I've got a lot of stuff to do for classes now that the term has started. Object-oriented software modeling is particularly nasty.   
  
  
  
2. There's a cover image for the story (a first draft, actually), under   
  
_ http://www.informatik.uni-bremen.de/~ariel/Elf-small.jpg_   
  
or here for the version with the better resolution:   
  
_http://www.informatik.uni-bremen.de/~ariel/Elf.jpg _   
  
Needless to say, I'd _love_ to hear your opinions.   
  
  
  
3. I'm working on a homepage, which I hope to have up very soon -- hopefully before the story is finished. Still, I'll hurry up with the next chapter. :)   
  
_Ha! Someone asked about the pic! To answer the question: I did it -- first Idid a (rough) pencil sketch, which I scanned, then I colored it. With a mouse, which is why it took all night. Right. Anyway, the pic is mine. Mine! *runs off screaming* ;)_   
  
Zephyr, I don't know why, but I have a feeling something about your reviews rubs off on me. 


	20. When The Energy Comes

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me, but this story does. And I'm not making any money with this, in case anyone was wondering.   
  
  
_Miscellaneous notes:_   
  
_**May 09, 2002:** I've put up the Author's Note again, because whoever has commented on that won't be able to leave a review for this chapter -- not easily at least. This is why the chapter count has gone up. I'll also put up the epilogue really soon -- I just want to make it nice, and as long as I can, since it's the very last thing I'll be writing for this story. _   
  
  
The story is almost finished (there will be an epilogue after this chapter), and I wanted to thank you all for the support and nice reviews. I'd love to get a few opinions on the story as a whole when it's finished -- which parts were okay, what could have been better, did it lag anywhere, how was the character development and so on, but I doubt anyone has the time and inclination to write such detailed reviews. Ah well. :)   
  
Since a few people seem interested in a meeting between Legolas and Anna's mother (or parents), I will try to write one, but as a stand-alone short story.   
  
Right now a short vignette from Legolas' point of view is in the works, which, apart from the site and work (and the fact that I've been quite ill) is another reason for the delay.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Chapter Eighteen: When The Energy Comes ~**   
  
  
  


It was the first night of my new life. I got no sleep that night, and I wanted none. Needed none.   
  
After the first few times the touches and kisses had lost the edge of desperation, the bittersweet taste of forbidden fruit. The need went from gut-wrenching to merely burning, which was just as well because it allowed a more leisurely approach.   
  
"There'll be more nights," I said at one point, stunned and a little frightened by an intensity that didn't seem to let up.   
  
The elf smiled lazily up at me, running a suggestive hand down my back. "Perhaps, but this one is special."   
  
I found that the bad-boy smile was enough to make the urgency return, and the heat. And I understood that there was no way all that would use itself up in one night. Somehow I had managed to get myself a bad, beautiful angel, and there was nothing much I could do about it, except enjoy. Deliriously.   
  
Still, there is only so much uninhibited sex one can have before complete and utter exhaustion sets in, and this is even true for elves.   
  
The sun was cautiously peeking over the horizon as Legolas slammed down on me, breathing _really_ hard, and in turn keeping me from breathing, since he was quite heavy. "Right," he said, grinning.   
  
"You give up?" I asked mischievously, although my own limbs felt like limp spaghetti.   
  
"For the next five minutes at any rate," he said.   
  
The sunrise found us talking -- in full, coherent sentences, too -- about pop culture, and about what passed as culture on Earth in general. I was lying on Legolas, elbows propped on his chest, chin in hand, conducting a strange sort of interview.   
  
"Opera," I said.   
  
"Ah. Rich, melodramatic. _Quite_ melodramatic, as I recall. Marvelously flamboyant, though. Loved it."   
  
"Musicals?"   
  
He sniffed at that. "Not really."   
  
"Watched any television?" I asked. We had come to a sort of unspoken agreement to treat his time on Earth as a prolonged holiday.   
  
"Loads," he said, with feeling. "It seems to be accepted evasive behaviour for males everywhere. It was about the only way I could get some time alone." He smiled then, very sweetly, and I knew it was okay to keep asking.   
  
"I don't know _when_ you were there," I started, "but there probably were a lot of reruns, so ...MacGyver?"   
  
He shook his head. "No."   
  
"Stargate?"   
  
"No."   
  
I thought hard. "Buffy?"   
  
"Nooo ..."   
  
"Star Trek?"   
  
A bird croaked, and Legolas' face lightened up.   
  
"Ah, Elves in Space," he said. "I know _that_ one."   
  
There was a loud rustle in the bushes on the left. Legolas tensed for a fraction of a second, but relaxed immediately after. Someone was being loud on purpose. There was an exaggerated cough, and then a gleaming helmet thrust through the foliage.   
  
"'Tis close to noon," said a gruff voice. "Most birds have risen by now -- methinks lovebirds must rise also if we are to reach Mirkwood in five days."   
  
I flushed, very conscious of the fact that I was only wearing Legolas' cloak. Legolas seemed unperturbed, though.   
  
"You might want to ride ahead then, master dwarf," he said, grinning. "I for one do not feel like rushing."   
  
Gimli snorted, but the snort developed into a grin under his beard, and after rummaging in a rather large bag, he settled down for a late breakfast. Which was abruptly interrupted as a swirly rose-coloured mist appeared out of nowhere, and a jolly voice with supernatural harmonics said "HI! HOW'S THE NEARLY MARRIED LIFE?"   
  
I sat up, carefully. "Quite nice," I said.   
  
"Why the gate? And why _pink_?" I asked Ilúvatar*.   
  
"THE DIMENSION HOPPING WAS GETTING ON MY NERVES," said the creator. He ignored the color question.   
  
"So why not fix it yourself?"   
  
"THIS IS WHAT QUESTS ARE FOR," he informed me.   
  
"Aha. So you decided to get someone from my world -- someone who watched too much science fiction television, I suppose. How did you settle on me?"   
  
"AH, THAT WAS EASY. I THREW DICE."   
  
_**DICE**_. That frikkin' little ... Legolas squeezed my hand in warning.   
  
"And the second time? Why didn't you get someone else?"   
  
"I WAS TOO LAZY TO THROW THEM TWICE," the god answered.   
  
And there went any idea I might have had that I was in any way _special_.   
  
"WELL, YOU WERE QUITE AMUSING, NEVERTHELESS," said the Pink Swirly One cheerfully. "IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING THAT YOU HAVE PORTAL RIGHTS AS LONG AS YOU WANT. AND LEGOLAS TOO, OF COURSE. YOU CAN CALL IT UP THE USUAL WAY."   
  
"By screaming really loudly?" I muttered.   
  
"IT SUFFICES TO THINK ABOUT IT."   
  
"Thank you," I said insincerely. At least I would get to see my parents once in a while.   
  
"WELL, MY CONGRATULATIONS ON A JOB WELL DONE. I AM SURE THERE WILL BE MANY ENTERTAINING FUTURE ADVENTURES. THE ELVES HAVE BEEN RATHER BORING FOR A LONG WHILE NOW -- I'M SURE THAT WILL CHANGE. YOU ARE PROMISING, MUCH MORE SO THAN THOSE WHO PRECEDED YOU."   
  
Preceded, eh? I sure _hoped_ I was more promising than a bunch of psychos. Altough that reminded me of something. "But ... all the poor things who sold their souls to become elves--"   
  
Legolas' expression said clearly what he thought of those 'poor souls'. I frowned at him.   
  
"AH, BUT THOSE HAD IT GOOD," said the creator. "THERE WERE OTHERS WHO FELL FOR CHARLATAN DEMONS -- ONE OF THEM IS A HOTEL PHOTOGRAPHER IN TUNISIA NOW. SHE'S OVER SIX FOOT FIVE AND MALE. QUITE THE LADYKILLER WITH MIDDLE-AGED MATRONS, THOUGH. I UNDERSTAND SHE'S CONTENT."   
  
I shuddered. An immaterial laugh swept over the glade. "THE SOULS WILL BE RETURNED, IF IT MAKES YOU HAPPIER."   
  
I was surprised to find out it did. I smiled. Legolas frowned.   
  
"IN DUE TIME," snickered Ilúvatar.   
  
Legolas stopped frowning.   
  
"WELL, I HAVE TO GO." I felt the immaterial equivalent of a pat on the head. "I SHALL FOLLOW YOUR CAREER WITH GREAT INTEREST, YOUNG ELF."   
  
And then he was gone.   
  
I sighed, relaxing. Legolas' arms enveloped me from behind, and, brushing my hair aside, he bent to kiss my neck. "I think it's time to go home," he whispered. "You'll like it." He smiled at the dwarf. "Both of you."   
  
Gimli winked at me.   
  
And that, on the whole, was it.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* whom I had secretly dubbed The Entirely Unnerving 


	21. Epilogue

_Disclaimer:_ _The Lord of the Rings_ does not belong to me, but this story does. And I'm not making any money with this, in case anyone was wondering.   
  
  
_Miscellaneous notes:_ Sorry about the very long delay, and thanks to everyone for reviewing. I'd make the note longer, but I'm eager to finally post this chapter, and thereby officially finish the story. I hope reading was as much fun for you as writing was for me. :)   
  
Oh, and I haven't forgotten about the little side-story from Legolas' point of view. It _is_ in the works -- I've been surprised to find that the mind of the elf turns out to be a rather dark and twisted place. Ah well.   
  
  
  
  
  
**~ Epilogue ~**   
  
  
  


The view is breathtaking. Finest white sand, and right behind the edge of the beach a color explosion of jungle foliage and tropical flowers. Legolas is silent; he drinks in the sights like other people around here the tequilas and banana daikiris. Contentedly cradled in his arms I am silent as well. I need my rest after the commotion of the morning. Also, the sun is hot and heavy in the sky, and we've never been somewhere _this_ sunny before.   
  
Even after a century, I find that our travels to remote corners of the earth always hold that element of agitation, mainly because, while we manage to avoid airplanes and airports with a little magical assistance, we like to stay in hotels like everybody else. The mornings are particularly exciting, because Legolas tends to treat an all-you-can-eat breakfast like minor warefare.   
  
The intensity is a family trait -- this is one of the few things I have learned. I have also learned that Legolas and his father have a lot in common, although I'm quite sure both would disagree. One thing they have in common is the coldness, and I suppose the ruthlessness in battle. There's also a bone-deep conviction that the end justifies the means... generally I have found out that Legolas is a lot less nice than I first thought. I guess I used to harbor a few illusions in the first few months of our relationship, but he's cured me of those. Luckily, I had no illusions regarding Thranduil -- only expectations, and those have turned out the be mostly accurate.   
  
The nicest thing I can say about Thranduil is that he is a good king, which doesn't make him a good husband. He is very much a Macchiavellian ruler . . . very shrewd and very calculating. He also seems to have gotten over his passion for good wine, which, while it doesn't make him a better person, at least makes him a more clear-headed thinker. And he is a good judge of character -- his choice of a spouse proves that beyond doubt.   
  
His pretty little wife doesn't look a year older than I do, and she is everything he is not -- kind, gentle, warm . . . It is also very plain that she loves him with a passion that borders on desperation. But although he has chosen well in this matter at least, he still treats his wife like just another pretty bauble in his growing collection of precious glittery things. It's not that he has replaced her, but he has been ignoring her for so long it has become a habit.   
  
All in all, it's no wonder she is depressed. Legolas description of her was '_spineless_', and although it was spoken in a fever dream, this is what I expected -- a spineless beauty with nothing to say for herself. I was wrong, as was Legolas. Despite the tragic aura that surrounded her when we first met I have come to value Legolas' mother; she is a very sweet, very intelligent lady. She has had the misfortune of growing up in a rather medieval environment, with no opportunities to nourish her very bright spirit. Since we've become fast friends and she's more of a sister than a mother-in-law, I've been working on rectifying that -- among other things.   
  
While he is very adept at ignoring his wife, Thranduil certainly takes notice of his son. His cool acceptance of Legolas' accomplishments is evident, as is his jovial behaviour towards me. He has figured out I might be useful, although he is not at all sure for what.   
  
Legolas thinks I'm useful too -- he maintains I have a stress-relieving effect on royalty,and on him in particular. He says keeping the future king relaxed is an important task, and one I've mastered very well. On those occasions he's always wearing a rare, faint grin, and his hands try to wander where they shouldn't, at least not in front of his loyal subjects.   
  
Legolas is a leader. It is something I only realized after we came to Mirkwood, and also something I would never have believed until I saw it, because he had so fully subsided under Aragorn's lead as long as the Fellowship existed. But at home he is utterly different. He can be cold, ferocious, _incredibly_ ruthless, and a very, very intelligent fighter. I think he is mildly vexed that the opportunities for bloodshed in defense of the realm are almost non-existent after Sauron's demise. There are the occasional bloodthirsty, stupid humans, but mostly nowadays Mirkwood is a quiet, peaceful place.   
  
And this is another preconception I had, and which has been swiftly put to rest. I used to think elves would like quiet, peaceful places where they could wander around singing and pick flowers all day long -- all night too, if they are so inclined. I failed to consider the bows, and the knives, and the disconcertingly feral smiles.   
  
Elves like flowers, and they like to sing. _Male_ elves like nothing more than a swift bout of killing after lunch to relieve the boredom, after which they can either compose a little ditty about blood glistening prettily on the leaves, pick some flowers for their loved one, or rip their arrows out of the cooling corpses and repair them lovingly.   
  
Since the attacks are not forthcoming, they like to entertain themselves by bashing each other's heads in, which is done elegantly and ruthlessly, and in the presence of as many females as possible. They use blades with alarming frequency, too, secure in the knowledge that there is very little that can seriously harm an elf.   
  
I hate that, so I tried to divert their attention from those rather violent pastimes towards a few Earth activities I hoped would keep them occupied. With Legolas' consent, I introduced them to opera, among other things. To my astonishment, it worked. Not quite as I expected, but it did. Ah well, at least I've succeded in keeping them occupied, now that there are no orc attacks to keep them alert and -- let's face it -- entertained. The Mirkwood elves are quite a bloodthirsty lot.   
  
Still, it's quite disquieting, walking through the forest at night and stumbling over male elves who, armed to the teeth, are belting out Rossini arias in front of their loved one's balcony. Legolas has done it too, once, because he knew perfectly well how it would embarass me. He got a load of dishwater on the head for his pains, and has never tried it since.   
  
Speaking of that, I smile a little as I remember . . .   
  
A fragrant night, the silvery shine of the new moon and the textured silence of the wood . . . I am alone in the palace kitchens, high above the ground, tiptoeing over polished, magically protected wood in search of the little honeycakes we had for lunch. I find them quite soon and carry them to the balcony where I sit down, leaning against the delicately carved railing. Then I unwrap a small cake, pop it into my mouth. Chew it slowly, blissfully happy about virtually everything around me, from the fresh air to the silence to the lingering taste of honey-sweetened dough unfolding on my tongue.   
  
I sigh, a long, low rush of utter contentment.   
  
_Celeste Anna, forma divina . . ._   
  
I startle, almost choking on a piece of cake. The voice is divine, a full, rich tenor. And I know only one elf who would substitute 'Anna' for 'Aida' and make it sound _that_ good. Still, he wouldn't dare--   
  
_ Mistico serto di luce e fior,_   
  
_ Del mio pensiero tu sei regina --_   
  
There is hushed snickering somewhere below, and what I can only describe as dreamy sighs on the left, where the queen's maids live. I rise, cheeks bulging around the cake, a volcano of wrath.   
  
_ Tu di mia vita sei lo splendor. _   
  
More male snickering from the stupid princes' bosom bows; I frown at the offending cads lounging nonchalantly around Legolas as if they just happened to be there by accident, and allow my hands to clench around the railing until my knuckles whiten. Legolas smiles, an almost indiscernible curving of lips, and, raising his head further for increased dramatic effect, launches into the haunting coup de grace.   
  
_ Il tuo bel cielo vorrei redarti,_   
  
_ Le dolci brezze del patrio suol;_   
  
I remember that my mouth is still full of cake, and swallow violently. I have a lingering suspicion that the imbeciles from the royal guard are humming along. One of them is twanging the string on his bow in a highly suspicious fashion. I can feel the blush creeping up my neck towards my face . . .   
  
_ Un regal serta sul crin posarti,_   
  
I hate being embarrased. There is going to be revenge, if I only knew how . . . the stack of dishes I notice in a corner alerts me to the existence of the nice, full bucket of dirty water. It doesn't take long to back into the room and haul the container to the railing, smile innocently, and watch the water describe a satisfyingly wide arc.   
  
_ Ergerti un trono vicino --_ ah, shit!   
  
I paid for that, as I expected to. But I am happy to say he has never tried it since.   
  
I smile a little wider over the recollection and snuggle deeper into Legolas' loose embrace. He squeezes my hand gently and I turn it over and kiss his palm, marveling at the fact that he manages to sound as good swearing as he does singing Verdi.   
  
For him, swearing is nothing new -- not so for his fellow elves. And so there is another thing I introduced them to, because they used to be abominably bad at it. For all its intricacy and lyrical beauty, Elvish is not a good language for swearing, but there are others. And as a member of the royal house of Mirkwood (or Greenwood the Great, as it is called now), which is populated by very hard-headed males, swearing is very much a survival requirement. It is at any rate preferable to drawing a knife and threatening to slice someone open.   
  
I can still remember the look on Thranduil's face as his wife called him a 'conceited, calculating bastard' over supper. She screamed it so it was sure to reach him over the length of the dinner table, and then she threw down her napkin and went away. I've also noticed the looks he's been throwing her since, which have gone from utterly disinterested to noticeably heated. This was a year ago, and she plans on keeping him on tenterhooks a little longer. I, for one, am cheering her on.   
  
Being an elf is always about being in touch with one's self, and as a people that first opened their eyes underwater, elves are very much in touch with their inner shark. It's admirable, really, how they have taken to swearing, although at this juncture it lacks the inventiveness they display in their other endeavours. 'Stupid fuck' is somehow not all that subtle, but they persevere.   
  
On the whole I can say life in Mirkwood is exciting enough, as are the occasional visits to my parents. Thankfully the portals open through time as well as space, so I hope to have many years of precious visits left.   
  
Legolas bites my ear, effectively scattering every semblance of coherent thought. There's a langurous quality to his nibbling, indicating that he's been rendered amorous by the midday sun and the heavy floral scents, but doesn't intend to rush anything. Only thinking about the possibilites not rushing offers sends butterflies fluttering through my stomach.   
  
And as I turn around in his arms, all but drowning in the silvery blue of his eyes, the silky shine of his hair against deeply bronzed skin, I realize another misconception will have to fly out of the window.   
  
Because elves _do_ get a tan.   
  
  
  


**~ THE END ~**

  
  
  
  



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